


The Great New Mexico Fake-Off

by beautifulcheat (Katalyst), ladynox



Series: Proof in the pudding [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Deserves Nice Things, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Maria DeLuca & Alex Manes Friendship, Maria DeLuca Deserves Nice Things, Michael Guerin Deserves Nice Things, Polyamory, Post Season 2, SO MUCH FLUFF, background forrest long/alex manes, cake is not a metaphor, endgame malexa, until it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyst/pseuds/beautifulcheat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladynox/pseuds/ladynox
Summary: Michael had tons of secrets.  Sex secrets, murder secrets, alien secrets… they defined him.  Most of them, he hated keeping.There was one secret, however, that he was determined to take to the grave.Or Michael learns to bakeOr cakes are a metaphor for Michael's love
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Proof in the pudding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918213
Comments: 237
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

Michael had tons of secrets. Sex secrets, murder secrets, alien secrets… they defined him. Most of them, he hated keeping. 

There was one secret, however, that he was determined to take to the grave. 

It all started during a snowstorm. He was stuck in the Airstream, bored and antsy -- normally he might go to the Pony, pick someone up or pick a fight. But his truck’s tires were basically bald and there was just enough snow on the road to make driving dangerous. Besides, he was pretty over his whole bullshit, lately. 

Michael decided to give Netflix a try. Max had shared his login with Michael and Izzy years ago, and other than the occasional science documentary, he never really used it. Isobel used to snoop on their profiles and complain that they were boring -- “Nothing but educational shows, honestly, you two are super lame. It’s like a high school teacher’s watchlist.”

He’d _meant_ to watch another documentary, but Netflix autoplayed a baking show, instead, and that’s how Michael found himself nine seasons deep into The Great British Bake Off, actually crying when Rahul won. Not even like a single manly tear. Full on weeping. He would never admit that to anyone, of course.

It sort of spiraled from there. The Airstream didn’t have an oven, more’s the pity, so he ended up building one in the junkyard, from old bricks and metal siding. It was tucked out of the way but if anyone got suspicious he could always call it a pizza oven, or a smoker, or claim he was using it for freaky alien science. 

It filled the downtime, which he had a lot more of now that he was single again. Michael found himself sneaking off between cars and other repairs to try making whatever he could. His first experiments were… not great. Cookies that came out half raw or burned, cupcakes that sank into themselves instead of rose. 

At least he never had trouble disposing of the evidence. Sanders had bargained for the leftovers with his silence. Currently, he had his mouth full of said concave cupcakes -- Michael was pretty sure three had disappeared in the last five minutes. “They’re good, kid.”

Michael snorted, embarrassed. “Oh what do you know, you one eyed junk man.” He wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t all goey inside, like that stupid cupcake that had more in common with a lava cake than anything else.

“Might be down an eye, but my tongue ain’t broken, idiot.” Sanders sniped back. 

“Obviously not,” Michael said dryly. But he couldn’t fault that logic. So he kept at it. 

It was frustrating. He was used to being pretty good at nearly everything he tried, and making rapid progress. So even if he didn’t _fully_ master one thing, he moved onto the next, figuring he’d figure it out next time he got the urge to try that particular recipe again. Things would probably eventually just click. But the failures kept piling up. His almond pear tart wasn’t flakey enough and the glaze on his strawberry dark chocolate truffle cake was so sloppy, it looked less like a drizzle and more like pink and brown drool.  
  
“Still damn delicious,” Sanders said in between Michael’s gripes about aesthetics. “And this frosting--”  
  
“Ganache,” Michael interrupted.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Strawberry chocolate ganache. S’not frosting.”  
  
“La dee da. Watches one European cooking show and he suddenly thinks he’s Gordan fucking Ramsey.”  
  
Michael rolled his eyes.  
  
“You know,” Sanders continued. “Maybe you should work your way up to the fancy ganache. Cupcakes aren’t collapsing anymore. What’s between cupcakes and this? Try that. And then give it to someone else, my jeans are shrinking.”

Michael raised an eyebrow over that. “I could just toss it?”

“Don’t you dare.” Sanders snapped back. “Baking’s meant to be shared.” 

He snorted at that. “Right, old man, sure.” 

“Mean it kid.” Sanders was looking at him, with an odd, sort of speculative light in his eye. 

“Sharing it with you, aren’t I?” He countered.

“It’s something you do for the people you love. Or at least can fuckin tolerate,” Sanders was clearly laughing at him. 

“I tolerate you just fine.”

“Who said _I_ could tolerate _you_?” Walt asked with a smirk, wiping frosting (ganache) off of his hands with a dirty rag, and heading back out into the junkyard.

Michael stared after him, bemused. _Well… fuck you too_? The thought was full of warmth though. He fucking loved the crusty old coot. Besides, all in all, it wasn’t the worst advice. So Michael spent some time on google, trying to find something challenging but doable. In the end, it was a totally unrelated conversation, remembered from his time with Maria, that sparked his imagination.

_“Mmm. Only thing better than cake, Guerin, is a boozy one.”_

_“Rather have my alcohol the old fashioned way, DeLuca. In a shot glass or straight out of the bottle.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh shut up. Just try this. It’s so moist!” She held out a forkful for him and he was so charmed that he opened his mouth._

So, he settled on a whiskey cake. Not the one with the really cool ripply-looking ganache. Just something pretty simple that tasted better than it looked, since apparently that was his current speed. Of course he didn’t account so much for the fact that the recipe itself wasn’t that much work, but the cake apparently, required multiple days of soaking in what amounted to a full bottle of whiskey. He had to practically empty out the tiny excuse for a fridge he had and remember to turn it every day. 

Baking was unexpectedly complicated.

Still, he was proud as hell of the finished product. Even dusted it over with powdered sugar, then boxed it up in one of those fancy pink pastry boxes that he ordered off Amazon, driving it over to the Pony with a hand on the box to make sure that he didn’t accidentally send it flying. 

It was relatively early in the day -- only a handful of the early crowd there, a combination of serious drunks and people having a casual afternoon beer. 

“What’s this?” Maria asked, pausing in wiping down the bar as he plunked it down on the counter. 

“Ah.” Shit. Cover story. He forgot that in between all the fussing and babysitting of the damned thing. “One of my junkyard clients brought it over. Part of her payment. Figured you’d appreciate it, and… me and Sanders can’t eat the whole thing.” 

“Oh?” She cocked her head a little, making a noise of surprise… and then flipped the box open. “Oh shit, is this a whiskey cake?”

 _Yeah. Good call, Guerin._ He thought, and grinned at her. “Yup.”

She was breaking out forks and cutting off a slice. “... This is really good,” she said after way, way too long in silence. 

He very carefully kept the pride off his face, and swiped a bite, too. “... Fuck. Yeah, it is.” He had to admit, this one was a win for him. 

“Strong too.” Maria grinned.  
  
“If you’re gonna call it a whiskey cake, you can’t skimpy on the whiskey!” 

“Exactly,” Maria laughed, leaning comfortably against the bar. Eyes on him. It felt almost like before they broke up, sniping back and forth when she wasn’t serving customers. Sometimes they didn’t even talk. Michael would just sit at the bar, nursing a drink, watching Maria opening beer bottles and creating cocktails at lightning speed while simultaneously making small talk or even flirting for that extra tip. Honestly, he really enjoyed watching her hustle. He was good, but she was better. 

“Moist enough you think?” He asked, piercing another morsel with his fork so he’d have somewhere to focus that wasn't Maria's eyes sparkling.  
  
“It’s perfect.” Maria’s tone made him look up. Had he been made? But he couldn’t make out anything in her expression and since she wasn’t given him a ton of crap already, his secret must still be safe. 

He nodded. “I’ll pass my compliments on to the chef. Wait. Is that what you call someone who makes cakes?” 

“Baker, Guerin.” Maria said, rolling her eyes at him, and taking another bite, finishing the slice off with him before stashing the rest of it in her fridge and moving on to keep working. 

* * *

The bad thing about keeping your new baking hobby a secret is that you couldn’t just ask people what they want. You had to guess. Which, he supposed, was kind of fun too. Like Christmas shopping, but somehow more personal. He found himself idly scrolling through pinterest and baking websites and putting up youtube videos while he was bored, fixing cars, just… thinking of ideas. Soon enough, he had bought a scrapbook. It was all well and good furtively using the library printer for recipes from Pinterest and other baking websites when the green-haired menace wasn’t looking, but he wanted to be able to write notes about what he was baking, ideas for other people. 

He started with Maria. He had tons of ideas for her and had a good feel for her tastes thanks to all the dates and plenty of late-night ice cream in bed. He _loved_ late night ice cream in bed. 

Max and Izzy got their own pages too, though he knew he’d have to be sparing with how much he brought Izzy, lest she get too nosy. 

The pages started to fill up, expand. One for Liz, for Cam. Even Arturo and Sheriff Valenti got pages. 

Alex…. Well, Alex’s pages were more a bunch of scribbled notes. He had no idea what the hell to do for Alex. He could count the number of times they actually ate together on one hand, usually just takeout in his truck -- cheap taco stands and gas station fare, mostly. Other than that, he could remember _watching_ Alex eat at the Crashdown. He remembered sneaking quick looks at Alex dipping fries into his milkshake (how could he forget Alex licking some of that shake off, innocently. Michael almost lost his damn mind). Sweet and salty maybe? Something salted caramel? 

God, he didn’t want to fuck that up. He wanted Alex to be _impressed_. But most importantly, he wanted to make Alex happy. Maybe some recon would be in order? 

And definitely, a lot more practice.

* * *

For the next week, whenever he had a spare moment, Michael was looking for something else to make for Maria. Besides alcohol, Michael knew Maria loved white chocolate (she actually preferred white chocolate to regular chocolate) and fresh fruits. He remembered fondly the occasional Sunday morning that he’d stayed over at Maria’s place and she would drag him to the fruit stands. He’d watch her gracefully molest peaches and apples, turn a mercenary eye on containers full of berries, and decide which types of apples she was in the mood for on a given week. Michael didn’t even know that apples _could_ be broken down into categories besides green and red. As much shit as she gave him about just about anything, Maria never gave him any shit about his woefully limited knowledge of food, which he always appreciated. She also seemed rather delighted to share her love of food with him. Maybe this was just… his way of giving that back to her, a little bit.

Maria liked berries the best, to throw in oatmeal or yogurt for breakfast, or as just an afternoon snack with a handful of nuts because she was too busy preparing the bar for opening to bother with an actual meal. 

So when Michael found a recipe for a white chocolate and cranberry tart, he knew immediately that it would be perfect. 

Also, he’d never made a tart before so that could be a good challenge. The hardest part was making the crust from scratch. He didn’t have a food processor so he got really creative with a pot, his powers and some metal bits so that wasn’t a problem. The filling wasn’t hard and rolling the dough and stuff wasn’t a problem either. But it still didn’t come out right. Too dry at first. Second time too wet. He learned about pie weights when he went back to the internet for more guidance. So the third time, the crust came out perfect--flakey and buttery. 

"Another cake?” Maria asked, surprised, when Michael walked up to the bar with another pastry box in tow. He set it down before taking off his hat, shaking off the snowflakes that had accumulated there during the walk from his truck to the bar. 

“Tart this time.” Michael smiled and opened the box, revealing the cranberry tart he had so painstakingly worked on. He was happy to see that the white chocolate chips and the sugar covered cranberries he’d decorated the tart with had stayed in fucking place on the way. That had been a pain in the ass to decorate. Maria liked pretty things and he wanted to give her something pretty.

“This is gorgeous, Guerin,” Maria breathed out and Michael’s heart did a backflip. Overjoyed. And then he immediately squished that feeling. He wasn’t doing it again. Wasn’t doing the pining or the tortured lust. He wasn’t going to do with Maria what he did with Alex. Neither he nor Maria deserved that. 

He just wanted to talk to her again, joke around. Wanted more than just a greeting and order for a beer when he was there with his siblings. She may not be his girlfriend but she was Isobel’s grand niece. She was… family? She was something. Someone he still cared about. 

Maria pulled out her cellphone and took a picture before grabbing some forks. 

“Who’s this client though?” Maria asked, head tilting to one side. Regarding him. “You sure they’re not trying to tell you something?” 

Michael laughed nervously. “Oh god, I hope not.” At Maria’s curious expression, he added quickly, “She’s married. I think she just wants a recipe tester.” 

Maria hummed. “You’re letting a wedding ring stop you?”  
  
“Hey, I have scruples! No married chicks.” Maria gave him a look. “Women. Married women who I respect as people.” 

She laughed softly, shaking her head. He grinned. “Try it.” 

It was ridiculous to be jealous of a pastry but Michael was pretty sure that Maria never moaned like _that_ when they were together.  
  
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “No seriously. Tell me who it is? If it means a steady supply of goodies like this, _I’m_ going to steal her from her husband!” 

Michael was really glad he didn’t have any tart in his mouth at the moment, or he absolutely would have choked on it. He laughed, stuffing his mouth full so he didn’t have to answer that and letting her distract herself with another bite. He sincerely hoped that he was managing to keep the wistfulness off his face. That just… wouldn’t do.

Before anything else could be said, Alex plopped down in the seat right next to him, snowflakes melting in his hair and his nose a little red from the cold. 

“Oh what’s this?” He asked peering curiously at the tart.  
  
“Guerin has a secret admirer,” Maria replied, clearly not at all ready to let go of that theory. 

One of Alex’s brows went up, high. “A secret admirer?” he asked, looking at Michael, searchingly.  
  
“Mmhm.” Maria said, waving her fork. “He won’t tell me who keeps making him desserts.” 

Michael laughs. “They’re not being made for _me_ , I swear. Trade. I fix stuff for the bakery and sometimes get pastries in return. Uh. Alex… you want to try?” A little awkwardly, but he was really curious to see if Alex would like it. 

“I mean, obviously.” Alex said, taking the fork Maria was passing him and digging in. 

Of course Alex isn’t like Maria. He just chews thoughtfully instead of moaning decadently, thank fuck. Michael’s not sure he’d survive the two of them doing that. But it does make it hard to gain intel on Alex’s dessert preferences. As always, Alex keeps his cards close to his chest. Even about fucking pastries. 

“I really like the filling,” Alex said, tapping his bottom lip with the tip of the fork before going in for another piece. “Not too sweet.”

Not _too_ sweet. Michael was filing those words away. So Alex didn’t like things that were super sweet. “Not sure I love cranberries though.” He said, playing nonchalant. “A little sour…”

“Tart,” Alex agreed, pushing away one of the sugar covered cranberries with his fork.

“That’s why it works so well with the white chocolate,” Maria defended. Michael and Alex exchanged amused glances. Clearly Maria thought they were both heathens.  
  
“White chocolates’ not even chocolate,” Alex said just to rile her up now. Michael recognized that look in his eye. 

She gasped, offended, jaw dropping “Alex Manes! It's like I don’t even know you!” 

“He’s technically right, DeLuca.” Michael couldn’t help but add, even if _both_ of them were giving him a look. 

“Oh, so now you’re an expert?” Maria huffed. “Fine. More for me.” Swatting Alex’s hand with her fork as he tried to go in for more. 

“Hey!” He protested. 

“If you can’t be nice, I won’t share.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Alex.. I’ll buy you a beer?” Michael asked. 

Maria laughed -- god, he missed her laugh. “Oh, buy? That’ll be a nice change.” 

Alex laughed too. Michael felt like he was going to burst out of his skin for just a moment, before he reminded himself that this was just… three good friends, having some cake and beer together. Nothing crazy.

“Technically I paid in cake,” Michael said. There was no one around the bar so he used a bit of power to levitate three glasses over to him. Since the taps were next to him, he quickly filled the glasses with three beers--one IPA for Alex and a Blue Moon for Maria and a Sam Adams for Michael. 

They drank together… continuing to give each other shit, laughing. He could almost think it was like old times, but really, there were no old times like this. Just Alex _or_ Maria, and the awkward spaces when he managed to be in orbit around both of them, in passing. So maybe it was like climbing into their friendship and stowing away -- safe, warm, electric. 

That bubble, of course, was never destined to last. Alex trailed off in the middle of a comeback, smiling brightly, at someone walking in. “Hey, you,” he called out. 

“Hey.” 

Michael looked over his shoulder, eyes landing on his least favorite historian, and feeling his heart sinking right down to his stomach. He took a quick drink of his beer, so that he wouldn’t be staring. 

“Forrest!” Maria greeted him, warmly. “You don’t usually roll in before the early crowd -- or on non-open-mic nights.” 

“Thought I’d stop by with some new fliers.” Forrest said, pulling out a stack of them for Maria. “Nate’s in a graphic design class and wanted to take a crack at this month’s.”

“Oh!” Maria was taking it… excitedly showing Alex.   
  
“Wait, that’s my name.” Alex was saying, startled, leaning in to look.   
  
Forrest grinned at him. “Yeah, well, you’re starting to become our headliner. Pretty soon people are going to start hassling you for your spotify.”

“Soundcloud.” Alex interrupted, grinning at him. “You’re thinking of soundcloud.” 

“You got one already, don’t you Manes?” Forrest was looking at him suspiciously, lips quirked up in a proud smile. 

Michael looked away from them, running his hand through his hair and putting his hat on. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy. He did, honestly -- Forrest was nice, clearly smart, and if Michael was being honest, he always thought Forrest was kind of hot in that emo nerd kind of way that wasn’t exactly his _type_ , but clearly wasn’t not his type, either, if you figured high school Alex into the equation (okay, it was totally his type and if he hadn’t been already ass-over-boots in love with Maria and wrestling with his feelings about Alex and his mom and everything that was going on in the last crazy year, he probably _would_ have asked Nazi Guy out for a beer after a spirited round of fighting for the microfiche reader -- even _after_ he found out that he was a Long). 

It was just that Alex was looking at Forrest with that fond smile that Michael remembered so well, so relaxed and open. And sure, Michael had done the walking away, and yes, it was the right move, but still, some part of him wanted to wrap himself around Alex and _hiss_ at Forrest. Hang a big ‘no parking’ zone sign around his neck. It was completely illogical and infuriating, but there it was.

“I gotta get going.” He said, quietly, suppressing the urge to lean over the bar and peck maria on the cheek. “Thanks for the beer.”

“So soon?” Maria protested. 

“I promised Izzy I’d take her to goat yoga.” Okay, that still wasn’t his best excuse but it was the first one that sprung to mind.

Forrest laughed. “I’m sorry, did you just say goat yoga?” 

“My sister is a weirdo,” he said with a shrug and a grin. That much was true enough, anyway. He finished off his beer in one smooth movement, then headed for the door.

“Seriously, what bakery did Guerin say he was working with?” He heard Alex ask as he slipped out of the Pony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our recipe inspo for this edition includes:
> 
> https://www.food.com/recipe/irish-whiskey-cake-107550#activity-feed - beautifulcheat has made this and it is VERY tasty, and very boozy. Flipping it while the booze sets is a must (one mistake I made was not being attentive enough to that requirement) and it is a very... leaky cake. Transport at your own risk!
> 
> https://delight-fuel.com/2019/11/29/white-chocolate-cranberry-tart/


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael expands his 'clientele' to his siblings. Jury's still out on whether or not he actually tolerates them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So adding this note for clarification: this story is suppose to be based post S2 since beautifulcheat and I were not happy with the state of Michael's romantic relationships at the close of the season. However, we both had a massive brain fart re Liz, completely forgetting she left. How we forgot such a massive story beat it is beyond me. Maybe our hearts were too sad to let it be true. So this story is basically canon compliant post S2 for Malex and Miluca but not for Echo. tl;dr Liz and Max never broke up. Liz never ran off to California. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The next cake he made was a dark chocolate mint cake, for Max. He laughed himself sick the entire time he was making it, because Max may finally be dating Liz but that didn’t mean Michael was going to stop making fun of him for being an utter dork. 

He walked into the Crashdown a week later with a stupid grin on his face and plopped the cake box in front of Max.  
  
“Oh is this from that infamous baker you’re dating?” Max asked.  
  
“Yes--No! I’m not dating anyone!” Michael huffed, dropping down in the seat across from Max.  
  
“Who’s Michael not dating?” Liz asked, stopping in front of their table with a stack of dirty plates in hand.  
  
“Maria told me Michael’s got a not-girlfriend,” Max explained, absolutely delighted in, for once, being the annoying brother as opposed to being the annoyed brother. “Apparently she’s a fantastic baker and he keeps pawning off the cakes she makes for him to Maria, of all people. Total mystery as to why.” Max gave him a look that told him that there was absolutely no mystery there, at all.  
  
“Mikey!” Liz was aghast. Michael’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the use of that nickname.

“Right?!” Max agreed, gleeful. Apparently Max-with-a-girlfriend was just a pain in the ass.  
  
“There is no girlfriend! It’s just a client for fuck’s sake!” Michael was not making cakes for Maria so she could think he was a shit boyfriend. It took almost six damn months to prove that he was trustworthy after all the shit he pulled with Lindsay. And even though they’re not dating anymore, he hated the idea of Maria thinking badly about him.That’s not what making those cakes was about. It was about--  
  
He must have been pouting because Liz laughed and ruffled his hair with the hand not balancing the plates. “Give me a second and I’ll grab some plates and silverware. I have to try this mystery baker’s love confections.”  
  
“I hate you,” Michael said as Liz walked off, still laughing.

“We’re just teasing,” Max said, probably feeling a little guilty about the teasing. But Michael didn’t pay it too much mind because Liz’s words reminded him of what Sanders had said before. 

_“It’s something you do for the people you love. Or at least can fuckin tolerate.”_

Liz returned a few minutes later with some plates, silverware and coffees, and sat down next to Max. They shared a kiss before Max opened the box. “Ohhhh yes dark chocolate!”  
  
Michael was pretty pleased with himself. He’d done a great job with the dark chocolate ganache. Yes dammit, it was ganache. He’d gotten it right this time - completely smooth all around the cake. There was not one bump to be seen. He’d also been practicing piping and made a few basic flowers out of _whipped_ ganache, adding food coloring to make them green. He’d practiced the flowers a few times before putting them on the cake too. He could draw all right in a notebook but doing it on cake with a piping bag was something completely different. They weren’t the prettiest flowers, to his critical eye. He would not have given this cake to Maria, but for Max? It was more than fine. 

“Is that mint?” Max frowned, pointing at the green flowers.  
  
Thankfully Michael didn’t have to lie. Liz had swiped her finger over a fluffy bit of flower and popped it into her mouth, to check for him. Michael privately thought that the way Max looked at Liz while she sucked on her finger was pathetic.  
  
“No chocolate,” Liz said cheerfully. Max looked like he’d totally forgotten about the cake. “It’s really good too.” She swiped up the rest of the flower with another finger and Michael was starting to worry that the table would rise six inches -- or probably more on-brand and dramatically, every lightbulb in the place would blow. 

And normally Michael would be disturbed by that thought, but it did mean that Max was too distracted by Liz to pay attention to the slice of cake being deposited in front of him. He just mechanically took a bite and...  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
“What?” Liz’s eyes were wide because Max was looking at her with such disappointment in his eyes. Like when you’re playing fetch with a dog and pretend to throw the ball but the dog realizes it. That kind of disappointment.  
  
“Not funny, Liz. You know I hate mint.”  
  
“It’s not mint!” Liz repeated in response to Max’s withering look. Which Michael is pretty sure is the first time Max Evans has ever looked at Liz Ortecho with anything but blind adoration. Would their relationship survive such a shock? Would Max go home now and flog a Scarlet M on his back? 

“Oh my God, Max,” Liz was saying. “I didn’t betray you--”  
  
“ _Et Tu_ \--”  
  
“ _Oh my God Max_!” She repeated with more emphasis. Now she was laughing and Max could barely keep his frown in place.  
  
Michael grabbed a fork and took a piece of cake from Max’s plate. “No, that’s definitely mint Ortecho.” He grinned. 

“You’re a dick,” Max complained. “Did you specifically ask your new girlfriend to make this trap of a cake?”

“My _friend_ might have been taking a few pointers.” Michael grinned.

Liz looked like she was about to tear into him, when her attention was diverted, thankfully, by a new customer. “Alex hey!” 

Oh, crap.

Liz got up, going to hug Alex. “Is it 3 already?” She asked, glancing at her watch. “Let me go see if your order’s ready.”

“Sure.” Alex was standing next to Michael, suddenly, looking down at them. “Another cake, Guerin?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Michael just shrugged. 

“Apparently the mystery girlfriend shares Michael’s shitty sense of humor,” Max said, picking around the mint parts. Michael was going to kill Max for mentioning the girlfriend again. “Want some? There’s no way I’m going to be able to finish it. It’s mint chocolate.” 

“I thought mint was your favorite?” Alex asked, picking up a fork so he could try it. Michael tried to perfect the art of staring at him intently but also looking extremely nonchalant. But of course Alex’s face didn’t give much away. He looked like he didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t any sort of pure pleasure, mind blown sort of look.

Liz laughed as she came back with a bag of food. “Max is apparently a romantic idiot who drank shakes he hated for over a decade just so I wouldn’t be embarrassed,” she said, leaning down for a kiss. “Minty. Stop eating it if you hate it.”   
  
“I don’t want it to go to waste,” Max complained. “It isn’t _that_ bad.” The dark chocolate was still very good, Michael knew. Rich and creamy. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Liz said, running her hands over Max’s hair… and leaning down to punctuate her words with kisses. “But you… are a weirdo.” 

Alex laughed at them, setting his fork down. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Lemme ring you up,” Liz said lightly, pulling away from Max.

Alex nodded. “Tell your girlfriend thanks,” he said to Michael, with a glint to his eye that either meant that the jig was really close to being up or Alex was jealous.

He wasn’t so optimistic as to assume the latter. 

But when Liz came back he did ask her, in the most roundabout way possible, what Alex had bought. He still ended up getting an ‘oh Mikey’ look for his troubles. When he finally made her a cake, he was gonna fill it with tartar sauce. 

* * *

Since Alex remained a frustrating enigma, Michael needed to collect more data. And there was only so much in-person stalking Michael could do, both from a practical have-no-money standpoint and a definitely-gonna-get-caught standpoint. It was time, he realized, to start thinking outside the box, which is why he rolled by Prasong’s restaurant before they opened, during prep time.

“Prasong, my man.” He grinned at the owner of the Thai restaurant. 

“Guerin.” Prasong looked wary. “I don’t owe you any freebies.” 

Michael put on his very best smile. “I’m not looking for food. Just looking for information.” 

Prasong looked suspicious, folding his arms, clearly waiting for Michael to spit it out. 

“Rumor has it that Alex Manes comes here once in a while?” The suspicion didn’t fade… it just got thicker. “I need to know what he orders.”   
  
“The hell are you into, Guerin?” 

“It’s just for a project Prasong. I promise I’m not some crazy stalker.” 

Prasong snorted. “This is crazy stalker shit though.” He pointed out. 

Michael sighed. “Look, I’ll take a look at that fryer of yours for free. I _know_ it’s on the fritz.” 

“Fryer is fine.” Prasong protested. 

“Your egg rolls last week say otherwise.” Michael tried to keep the smirk off of his face. “Kinda soggy, you know?” 

“My fryer is not responsible for you taking too long to eat,” he snapped, then reconsidered. “But… fine. You can take a look at it.”  
  
“You’ll tell me what Alex orders?” 

Prasong rolled his eyes. “Fine. Not my fault if he takes out a restraining order on your dumb ass.” 

“Perfect,” Michael said, turning to go.

“Hey!” Prasong called out. “Fryer isn’t going to fix itself.”  
  
Right. “Just getting my tools, man,” he called out over his shoulder. It was gonna be a long day. He _hated_ working on fryers.

* * *

About a week later, Prasong was in the Pony. Michael even bought him a beer before grilling him, because he was in a giving sort of mood.

“Bro he's got a boyfriend,” Prasong started, without preamble, when Michael set the beer down in front of him.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I mean... _For now_ , yeah.” 

Prasong shook his head. “This is not a good road you're on bro. I know this kind of longing, but you gotta let it go. He don't want you, bro.”

”Well I hope you’re feeling better now that you’ve channeled Kyle Valenti during his frat boy days…” Michael said, dryly, taking a drink of his beer. 

Prasong rolled his eyes a little. “Oh, like Thai guys can’t be in a frat? Sigma Chi for life.”

“Gross.” Michael laughed though. “Fine, can you ditch the bros long enough to give me the information I need or do I need to break into your place later and re-break your fryer?”

Prasong groaned, and looked at him with something approaching pity. “Look, drunken noodle on the house to ease the pain.”

“No takebacks Prasong.” Michael pounced on that, because he never, ever said no to free food. He also wasn’t about to be deterred. “Now, _spill.”_

Prasong sighed, deeply. “Green curry, spicy, and a beer. They split Khao Tom Mad for dessert.” 

“Great.” He… honestly wasn’t sure how that was helpful. Maybe something coconut? Banana? No, that didn’t feel right. He’d have to think about it. Still, he got a free meal out of it, so he couldn’t complain too much. “So I’ll pick up that drunken noodle tomorrow?” Michael asked with a grin. “My heart is _very_ broken.”

Prasong looked frustrated. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole, Guerin?”   
  
“Every day of my life.” And Michael didn’t even try to keep the smirk off his face as he clapped him on the shoulder lightly and headed over to the pool tables.

This baking habit was getting expensive, after all.

* * *

He knew he had to walk a real fine line with Isobel. She had a great palate, but if he wasn't careful, she’d sniff him out like he was Tanqueray, and he was _not_ ready to deal with her nosy sister bullshit. 

But if he didn’t bring her _anything_ , that would be just as suspicious. Especially after he brought Max something. Izzy’s page in his notebook was filled with things she liked. Sweet lattes, strawberries, everything citrus. He just had to figure out the opposite of that. Well, not the opposite in the sense that Max’s trap cake was, but something that wouldn’t ping her as being made for her.

He finally settled on cake pops. Well settled is the wrong word. Settled implied that Michael hadn’t chosen to make Izzy cake pops because he forgot to grease the pan for a lemon poppy cake he was making for Maria. Settled implied that Michael hadn’t been about to scrape the cake into the trash a moment before remembering that Isobel sometimes enjoyed buying cake pops at Starbucks with her overly sweet lattes. 

And there was no way Isobel would know that he knew how to make cake pops.  
  
Well, he didn’t know. But how hard could it be? He understood the basics. Take a cake, smash it and blend it with frosting. He made a nice tart lemon frosting and spent what felt like eons blending until smoothed. While scrolling pinterest (another secret that couldn’t even be tortured out of him), he was inspired by lemon shaped pops.  
  
Izzy, like Maria, was all about aesthetics. The two of them were actually more similar than Michael cared to consider honestly.  
  
Trying to roll the dough into lemons was hard though and at first Michael thought he was just bad at it. But then he decided to try sticking the room temperature dough into the fridge for a couple hours. He was very proud of himself when his idea worked. The dough was much easier to manipulate once it was a little chilled. 

Michael had no intention of buying fancy straws. He had a ton of paper straws in one of his junk drawers from the Thai place. Prasong was all about the environment. So while the dough was chilling in the fridge, he took some straws and cut them in half. He briefly considered trying to paint them but decided that was unnecessary and he was too lazy for it anyway. Instead he worked on some calculations for his console -- or at least tried too. He found he wasn’t quite in the mood to work on an escape plan. Instead he started watching another cooking show.

Never able to sit still for very long, Michael ended up making yellow sugar crystals with regular sugar and food coloring while watching the cooking show. It definitely made the cake pops look prettier when he rolled them gently in the sugar crystals. And finally with his make-shift ziplock piping bag, he was able to make a couple lemon leaves on each pop. Which -- if he were sharing this with anyone -- he could wax poetic about how much of a pain in the ass that was. At least 4 pops were destroyed in the attempt. But they were a delicious sacrifice. 

* * *

Michael stopped by Izzy’s new townhouse the next day. It was in town and smaller than she was used to, but Izzy was already well under way into making it her home. This was his second time here and the interior design had already been updated -- new paint on the walls, a couple pieces of new furniture. The place was already a lot more authentically Isobel than the place she’d shared with Noah, brighter colors, funkier design. It was good to see. He’d never really liked that Stepford Wife place she had with Noah. Though he did notice the snake plant he got her for a housewarming present was, somehow, dying. 

Before he could say anything about the plant, Izzy gasped, “I’m finally getting a “not” girlfriend cake!”  
  
Michael rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. With his annoyingly perceptive sister, maybe it was better for his secret if she thought there was another woman.  
  
He put the box on the kitchen counter. Instead of spending too much time eyeing Isobel’s large, comfy kitchen, he went to rescue the plant from certain death.  
  
Izzy realized what he was doing almost immediately, laughing. “Sorry Michael.”  
  
“You know I got this for you because you were saying you were interested in gardening,” he said, checking the soil. Bone dry.  
  
“I mean I am but I’ve just been busy with Blaire--”  
  
“Ok. No more details. And honestly, it doesn’t matter how busy you are, all you have to do is like water this once a month! Also this is a terrible corner for it. I mean, low light doesn’t mean _no_ light.” Chiding her, good-natured. 

“I meant to Google…” But she did stand next to him and dutifully listened to his lecture. 

“Just try to be a bit kinder to it,” he said eventually, shaking his head. 

“Kinder?” Izzy laughed. “You’re such a dweeb.”  
  
“Oh, shut up and open the box,” Michael said and placed the plant in a better spot with bright light. 

He turned back to her just in time to see her face grow into a wide smile. “These are adorable!” Her cellphone materialized in her hand and she took a bunch of pictures from all kinds of angles. 

Michael tried not to grin too big. He was really proud of them, honestly. “She brought them over today, and I know you like lemon, so…”   
  
“Mmhm.” Izzy was taking a selfie of one of them up to her mouth, grinning… and then popping it into her mouth. “So good.” 

“Yeah?” He stole another one of them, trying to feign surprise over how good they were. “Oh hell yes.” 

Izzy laughed… and she was tapping on her phone, as she grabbed another one. “You should make us some lemondrops. Just complete the theme, hm?”

Michael laughed. “A little complicated. Maybe just a couple mimosas?”   
  
“God, Michael, you’re so boring. You dated a bartender for like a year, did you learn nothing?”

“Why don’t you put your phone down and help then?” He said, with a laugh. 

“Hmmm. I guess. Think this is good enough to post?" She turned her phone to show him the instagram post she was about to publish, that selfie with the pop, plus a bunch of the others pops themselves. But what caught his eye was the caption. 

_Adorable cake pops made by my equally adorable brother_. 

Oh god damnit. Michael groaned. “Isobel, I’ve _told_ you..”

“Please, Michael.” She cut him off, smirking. “How long have I fucking known you? You’re not a master secret-keeper. You’re actually terrible at secrets. Are you gonna fess up? I don’t jump into people’s heads anymore, but I have ways of making you talk.” 

“What the hell, Iz, I’m awesome at secrets.” 

To Isobel’s credit, she didn’t laugh. Much. “I won’t post it. But you could stop lying to me, you idiot,” she said, reaching for his cheeks. “I’m potentially the future mother of your children, you know.”

He grumbled. “Do _not_ make fun of me for this.” 

“Oh Michael,” she said, shaking her head a bit. “I’m your sister. Making fun of you is my universe-given right.” 

“I hate you,” he said, batting her hands away from his face. “Also that’s a really weird thing to say right after saying you’re gonna mother my children.” 

“Poor baby,” she says, laughing. “Booze will help.” 

“Nothing hard,” he started. Isobel raised her eyebrow. “Trying this new thing where I don’t get wasted midday.”  
  
“Baking, gardening and temperance. You really are becoming domestic.” She smirked in response to the murderous look on his face. 

“Champagne it is,” she said, lightly, whipping up a pair of French 75s, with a bit of a lemon nailpolish remover twist.

“You’re so pretentious.” He took the flute from her.

Isobel laughed, raising her glass to him. “There’s no shame in being a fancy bitch.” She took a sip, leveling a serious look at him. “Look. You can use my kitchen. I’ve got plenty of counterspace and a kitchenaid that my creepy alien sociopath of a husband bought me because he apparently didn’t know me at all.” 

“Why didn’t you get rid of that, by the way?” He asked, looking over at it, all shiny and imposing on the kitchen counter.” 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, kitchenaids are _expensive_ , and it looks cool…? Look, you can inexpertly psychoanalyze my trauma recovery, or you can just shut up and stop looking a gift horse in the mouth.” 

“I…” Michael started. Frowning. It was one thing to admit he was baking. It was another to accept help from Isobel, but… he _did_ want to get his hands on that kitchenaid. And her fancy oven that actually had accurate temperature control. And her stove which would be way easier to temper chocolate on than his stove.

He groaned. Her look was more excited than smug, which is the only reason he caved. “Okay _fine_.” At least now he could stop using his powers to blend shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe inspo for this chapter:
> 
> https://iambaker.net/mint-chocolate-cake/?utm_medium=social&utm_source=pinterest&utm_campaign=tailwind_tribes&utm_content=tribes&utm_term=938673562_41556240_109845
> 
> https://www.momsandmunchkins.ca/lemon-cake-pops/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel gets cinnamon rolls and Michael enters into a relationship of convenience.

Only a week in and Isobel was driving him nuts. Not that he didn’t expect that -- Izzy was a born leader and her attention to detail was spot on, which was great when she was helping him tear down a recipe, and absolutely _terrible_ when she was pointing out that he’d gained five pounds. Especially when she was pointing it out while they were stuffing their faces with the homemade cinnamon rolls she’d convinced him to make. Not that he’d taken _that_ much convincing, especially when she’d promised Irish coffee to go along with them. 

“Look, all I’m saying is you could stand to go on a run once in a while. Or at least a walk. Maybe get a dog?” She was saying, as she pulled her cinnamon roll apart, gleefully, watching them steam a little. 

He laughed, sucking some cream cheese icing off a finger before he picked up the coffee and took a sip of it. “Hell no. To any of it, but especially the running. Not everyone is a masochist like you, Iz.”   
  
She raised an eyebrow. “The amount of times you let yourself get punched in the face would argue otherwise.”   
  
“Hey, I haven’t been punched in the face in _ages_ ,” he protested.

“I could fix that for you?” Isobel countered with a laugh and a wink, and Michael had absolutely no doubt that she could and would, given the amount of jiu jitsu classes she’d been taking lately.   
  
He snorted, rather than try to verbally spar with her any more. She was better at this than him, and honestly, he’d rather have a mouth full of cinnamon and sugar. 

“What are you making today?” She asked, after a few minutes of them both falling to gluttony. Pretty sure Maria’s noticing the lack of cakes.” 

Oh god. He carefully kept the glare off his face. “What, are you two talking now?” Michael asked, with a raised eyebrow and a sinking stomach. 

Isobel did her level best to look innocent, which was not innocent at all. 

“Iz.” 

“What?” She asked, shrugging, holding her hands up a bit, as if that could pacify him. “My great grand niece needed some… guidance. She’s working on using her powers.” 

Michael couldn’t keep a sour expression off his face, so he grabbed his coffee and took a drink of it, instead. 

“We’re working on her control,” she continued, and Michael tried really hard not to resent her placating tone. “Talking about Mimi’s progression. Kyle said there’s no sign of mental deterioration, so our theory is that she just never learned how to control her powers, and they overwhelmed her. Maria’s trying to be as safe as she can. But you know she can’t cut that part of herself off. Think about how mad you were when Kyle injected me--”

“When you injected _yourself_.”

“Yes, when I injected myself with Liz’s serum,” she said, with a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Which I can admit now was a mistake that I made, because I was afraid.”

Michael stared at the cinnamon roll. Noted a bit of inconsistency in the layering of it, and thought about how he could fix that next time. “Yeah, you’re making your point,” he admitted, finally. 

“My point is, there’s _no_ way we’re finishing these ourselves. So maybe you should drop the leftovers off at the bar, on your way to drop off of whatever else you’re making today?” 

“She doesn’t work on Mondays,” he pointed out.

“Oh my bad,” Izzy said, eyes just a little too wide, innocence just a little too practiced. “Guess you’ll have to drop them off at her house, then.”

“You are an interfering pain in my ass, you know that?” He asked, as he got up, and kissed her cheek, hoping that it was sticky and gross.

“Only ‘cause I love you, brother,” she said, laughing, and rubbing at her cheek with a grimace. “So seriously, what’s on the menu today?” 

“Donuts,” he said, with a smirk. Deciding it was time to get started, he headed to the kitchen to start pulling out ingredients from the fridge and cupboards. Isobel’s kitchen counter was huge. Michael loved the airstream but the amount of space she had -- well, it kind of made him wish for something larger. Like a real house. It was nice to be able to have everything out--ingredients, bowls, mixers, parchment paper. Everything could be prepped beforehand. He didn’t have to rush to get the next part of a recipe together to add to the previous part. He didn’t have to constantly clean and put things away while baking because there wasn’t enough room for one dirty bowl.

“Balsamic vinegar?” Isobel asked, looking a little disgusted, picking up the bottle he’d set down. 

“It’s not just to make salads palatable, Izzy,” Michael said, with a know-it-all air just to annoy her. 

“Obviously,” Izzy began but he had stopped listening to her because he was excitedly attaching the dough hook to the Kitchenaid. Like really, fuck you Noah. But also, this was the best day, ever. She had everything, including an attachment for ice cream that he was already considering recipes for. Coffee bourbon chocolate chip ice cream would definitely please both Maria and Alex. Michael was sure of it, although it was probably still too cold out for ice cream. 

“This is going to take a while to make,” Isobel said, looking over the recipe he’d printed out while the mixer worked on the buttermilk, sugar and yeast. It was fun to watch. He added the rest of the ingredients into the mixing bowl, grinning gleefully as the dough came together.   
  
This really was the coolest thing. He didn’t even notice Isobel walk away.   
  


* * *

Once made, the dough had to be chilled for three hours _at least_. So instead of sticking around with Isobel and her questionable tastes in entertainment (or worse, meddling), Michael decided to go deliver the cinnamon rolls to Maria. Isobel had smirked at him the entire time he was boxing up the rolls.

“Now don’t forget to come clean about who really made them,” Isobel said, grinning.

“Hell no,” Michael replied and walked out the door. Michael received no less than four texts from Isobel on the drive to Maria’s—thumbs up emojis and gifs of people Michael assumed were characters from media he’s never watched telling him that he had this.

Not for the first time, Michael wondered if the Kitchenaid was really, _really_ worth this level of annoyance.

(The answer was a resounding yes. He could use that thing to make pasta, _from scratch_ )

Michael was excited to see Maria again, even though he was cautioning himself to rein it in. No matter what Isobel thought about his fractured relationships, they couldn’t just be glued back together with confectioners’ sugar. Still, he thought this might be a good thing. Reconnecting. Spending time together. Just being back in her orbit. He wanted it so bad.

Maria didn’t answer her door. Her car was in the driveway but all the lights in the house were off. Maybe she was asleep or maybe she stepped out. Or maybe it was none of his damned business anyway.

Sighing, Michael took a pencil out from his jacket pocket and wrote, or more like scratched into the box, _enjoy -from michael_ before leaving the box on the porch. 

It was probably better this way. Honestly, standing here, he felt like he was intruding anyway. Like her house was off limits to him, too private, something he didn’t have access to now that they weren’t a couple. 

And the reason they weren’t a couple still loomed over him like a dark cloud, made heavier by his conversation with Iz earlier. Logically, what Maria was doing made sense. And damn if he wasn’t so proud of her. Maria was so brave and strong and that was what he loved about her. 

But if the result of all that strength and bravery was wandering barefoot through the Next Mexico desert, was it really worth it? 

Emotionally, for him, the answer was _no_. A resounding no. Michael wanted to make heaps of jewelry with that flower, sew it into her clothes. He loved her and he needed her to be safe, whether or not they were together. 

_And that is why she left you_ , Michael thought bitterly. He climbed back into his truck, pressed his forehead against the steering wheel. _Because you’re too much._

Maria hadn't said that but she didn’t have too. Michael knew. He knew he could be a lot. And Maria was fiercely independent. Stubbornly so. Detrimentally so. 

_I should have argued more_ , he thought, not for the first time.

But he hadn’t. He’d given up and she’d given up. And here they were. 

Michael started the engine of his truck and drove off. 

* * *

When Michael got back to Isobel’s, he walked straight into the kitchen and started working on the cream cheese and balsamic blueberry fillings. Isobel had been in her bedroom but came out when she heard the stand mixer running again. She watched him for a while, and he could feel her eyes on him, taking in what he could only guess were the angry lines of his shoulders, movements of his hands.

She almost sounded unsure, when she finally started talking, after he turned the mixer off. “So did you tell DeLuca-"

“Left the box on her doorstep. She wasn’t answering her door,” Michael said. He knew he sounded grumpy. But that was better than dejected, which was how he was feeling.   
  
“We had a tough session yesterday,” Isobel said, sympathetically -- a tone that he was trying desperately not to resent too much. “She’s probably just tired.”   
  
Angrily, Michael yanked open the fridge and shoved the both fillings in, paying little mind to the other items already in there. Then, remembering that the cream cheese filling had to be room temperature, he grabbed the bowl back out of the fridge and slammed it on the counter.   
  
“If you break my bowls, you’re buying me a new set,” Isobel said flatly. But she was already heating up the leftover coffee in the microwave. Once warmed, she poured some Bailey’s in both and handed one to Michael. He forced himself not to down it in one gulp. Instead he just focused on the warmth seeping into his hand from the mug. The mug was a little too hot, just at the edge of uncomfortable. That helped him calm down. 

“She was right,” Michael finally said, looking at Isobel. “I can’t take this.” He finally took a long drink from his mug. Too hot. Perfect.  
  
“You know how strong she is.” It wasn’t a question.   
  
Michael nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I like that she’s suffering.”   
  
“She could just be sleeping, Michael,” Isobel reminded him, gently, though there was a tinge of exasperation underneath. 

“I hate not knowing more than I hate knowing.” He walked over to the couch and sat down. Not sure what to do with that statement at all. 

“I know.” Isobel sat down next to him with the remote for the TV in hand. She propped her feet up on the coffee table and leaned against him, as she pulled Netflix up. “We got a couple hours before we can keep baking,” she said, by way of explanation.  
  
“Uh no,” Michael said immediately upon realizing what she was pulling up on Netflix -- _Crazy Ex-Girlfriend._ The entire premise pissed him off and apparently it was a musical and honestly this was just too much.   
  
“Uh yes,” Isobel replied. “You need a distraction. You’re being absolutely too maudlin about what is likely, at worst, a headache.”   
  
“It’s not about the headache!” Michael reached for the remote but she actually had the audacity to push his hand away with her TK. There was something deeply unfair about his sister using his own power against him.   
  
“Yeah, it’s about Maria doing something that bothers that misogynist cowboy chivalry of yours,” Isobel shot back.   
  
“It’s not--”   
  
Isobel cut him off, firmly. “As someone who’s been on the receiving end of it, Michael, I beg to differ.”   
  
They stared at each other for a long moment. 

“Ugh.” He made a face, tried to breathe. “Put your weird musical show on.” 

Isobel smiled, somehow both victorious and sympathetic at the same time, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “You’re gonna love it. And you know what? Baking’s really bringing us closer together.”

“No, this is a relationship of _convenience_ , Iz,” he protested, trying really hard not to laugh, because he was still pissed god damnit. “Your kitchenaid is convenient.” 

“Yeah, sure, brother,” she said, laughing as she ruffled his hair and hit play. “Just sit back and let the magic happen. We got a couple hours before you get to destroy my kitchen frying things in oil.”

He rolled his eyes, and maybe, just maybe he leaned into Izzy’s hand in his hair. It felt good. Warm. And maybe he needed that, right now.

* * *

A few hours later, he was heading into the police department and trying really hard not to hum an annoyingly catchy song about having friends from that damned show. He could make a lot of fun of the show, but the songs were fucking earworms. And he had to hand it to Izzy -- it was hard to keep moping when they were running through your head.

Cam was on duty, and as he came in, she leaned back in her chair, looking up at him, obviously startled. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the cuffs.” 

“Ha, ha, very original.” 

“You here to turn yourself in?” she asked, dryly, eyebrow raised at Michael.

Michael rolled his eyes. “For what?”   
  
“You tell me.” Cam smiled. “It’s either that or you’re lost. Or really high?”   
  
“None of the above? Pawning these off,” he said. “Since you’re cops, I figured who better?” He held up the box of donuts he made earlier. Just because he was still dealing with what Isobel irritatingly called an ‘emotional breakthrough’ didn’t mean he could skip out on delivering the donuts.

Isobel thought he was a weirdo for making donuts for the cops. But he’s spent so much time at the county jail that it felt wrong not to make them something. He knew them all by name. And for a while, was even up to date on everyone’s personal lives. Like Joe breaking up with the librarian, Missy. And Shirley had been pregnant the last time he saw her. He wondered if she was still on maternity leave.   
  
“Oooooh,” Cam said laughing, taking it. “So that mystery girl you’ve been dating just happened to make donuts?” 

“Something like that. Balsamic blueberry and cheesecake.”   
  
“Fancy,” she says… pulling one out and taking a bite, raising an eyebrow. “These are really good.” 

He grinned, trying to keep the pride off his face. Despite all the drama, the donuts had come out perfect. They were round and firm, lightly dusted with sugar, the blueberry balsamic and cream cheese fillings spilling out artfully from the hole at the top. He actually used his TK to mix the fillings together a bit more to his liking and, to give the spilled out portions a bit more of a spiral look. 

“I’ll pass your compliments along.” 

“I’d rather do it myself,” she said, between bites. “Get to know the person who’s finally getting you to settle down a little.” 

“She’s just a client,” he says, with a sigh that he knew was verging on exhausted.

“I am a detective, you know,” Cam said dryly.  
  
“And here I thought you were a deputy. On desk duty.” Michael couldn’t help but smirk at her, call her out. Detective. As if Roswell rated a whole detective. 

“Pushing your luck, Guerin. I still have handcuffs and access to the holding cell. And a gun in case you get cute.” 

“ _Detective_ it is.” He grinned at her. And maybe he was flirting, just a little. Cam was gorgeous, after all, and if he weren’t already a little emotionally compromised, she’d have been pretty much exactly his type. 

“Mr. Guerin.” Michelle Valenti was poking her head out of her office. “Are you here to turn yourself in?” 

“Seriously, did you guys coordinate on that joke?” He complained. “Was there a memo or something?”

“I think he’s trying to bribe us, Sheriff,” Cam said, waving her over. “Must have some serious crime on his mind, ‘cause these are definitely better than petty larceny donuts.” Cam’s eyes were sparkling with a suppressed laugh. 

“Could be.” Valenti was also smiling. “But knowing Isobel Evans, I think it’s more likely that he’s offloading them because she’s been making cracks about how he’s gotten soft since he started dating that baker.” 

Michael supposed that cracks about dating a mystery baker were better than cracks about him dating Izzy. “You know what,” he said, shaking his head with a laugh. Valenti was way too perceptive and he knew when he was beaten. “I’m going to leave before I actually _do_ commit a crime.” 

* * *

A day later and he was trying really hard not to worry over Maria. Still. He spent a while working on one of their tow trucks, but since it was a slow day at the junkyard, there wasn’t much to keep his mind busy. 

So he decided to make something for Sanders. The cranky old man never met a cookie he didn’t like. He decided on chocolate chip -- simple, classic, and easy. He didn’t need to make it complicated when he was just stress baking. 

“If my father could only see you now.” 

Michael whirled around, as he was pulling them out of the improvised oven that he’d been so ready to get away from, but was somehow a bit comforting today. Alex was leaning against one of the cars, looking way too amused at catching Michael with his hands full of cookies. 

Ah fuck. Well, there was no playing this off, was there? “What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael asked, trying not to be defensive.   
  
“Michael Guerin, red-level terrorist threat, wearing oven mitts in a junkyard, holding a baking sheet full of cookies, with… flour on his nose?” Alex was grinning just a little. “So so threatening. I mean, not as threatening as the time I caught Izzy cooing over marrying ketchups at the Crashdown, or when Max teared up in class reading Dostoevsky...” 

“Alex, shut up,” Michael groaned, wanting to throw the cookies at his face. Alex was laughing at him, and it was beyond annoying. Michael could feel his face heating up a bit. “What are you doing here? Car acting up?” He asked, putting the baking sheet down on the hood of a junker, pulling off the mitts and self-consciously rubbing at his nose. 

“I suppose you could say I’m here for my just desserts.” 

Michael stared at him, long enough to make it uncomfortable, to punish him for that truly, truly terrible pun. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he responded, eventually, as if he weren’t obviously covered in flour and standing five feet from an oven he had literally just pulled cookies out of, with the smell of sugar almost overpowering the grease of the junkyard.

“Why do I not rate cake?” Alex asked, bluntly. “Everyone else in this damned town apparently does. Max, Isobel, Maria. The _police_ department? I mean, come on, Guerin, who’s next? Is Kyle going to rate cupcakes?”   
  
“Muffins! Kyle is _boring,_ ” Michael protested, and at Alex’s victorious look, he knew he was caught.

Alex raised one of his perfect eyebrows. “Muffins, uh-huh.”

Damn that Air Force interrogation training -- okay, he could be making that up, that probably wasn’t a thing. Maybe. “Keto bacon coffee cake muffins,” he grumbled. It was on his list, but he wasn’t quite confident in his ability to make anything keto palatable.

“Are you _serious_ \--” Alex started, then cut himself off. “Whatever.” Alex was shaking his head, smiling, but it was clearly in disbelief. “Like I should at least rate… I don’t know. Carrot cake?”   
  
“Do you like carrot cake?” Michael asked, a little too quickly. 

Alex stared at him, balefully. “Do I look like I like carrot cake, Guerin?” 

Okay, maybe not carrot cake. Michael groaned, running fingers through his hair. “You know, a pointer would be nice. Anything to go on.”

Alex laughed, looking for a minute like he might give in before he got an appraising, calculating look in his eyes. “You know what? You’re the genius. Figure it out.” And then he had the audacity to wink and head out of the junkyard without another word, while Michael stood there, sputtering.

Well, okay then. Gauntlet thrown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe Inspo:
> 
> https://ofbatteranddough.com/overnight-homemade-cinnamon-rolls/ (beautifulcheat has made these multiple times -- a forgiving, easy recipe that can be made if you've been drinking. This had definitely been made while drinking. Recommend paying attention to rising times and not starting too late.)
> 
> https://www.cloudykitchen.com/blog/doughnuts-with-balsamic-blueberry-and-cheesecake-filling (beautifulcheat hates filled donuts and making an oily mess of her stovetop but these do look amazing. And annoying.)
> 
> https://joyfoodsunshine.com/the-most-amazing-chocolate-chip-cookies/ (another one beautifulcheat makes frequently. Doesn’t require chilling and freezes well. Best eaten hot and fresh, as most cookies are.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Michael is morose and indulges in a little sanctioned stalking.

Michael sat on the pink velvet couch in Izzy’s living room -- thankfully free of Izzy, who was currently off planning some fancy shindig -- tapping his notebook with a pencil, and staring at the freshly-painted white walls. Working on ideas, for Alex, for Maria. And trying not to think of any of the implications of the fact that he now had a spare set of keys to Isobel’s apartment and could come and go as he pleased. It was a sweet setup. That kitchen was to die for and her couch and cable package were a nice bonus.

If she converted her spare room for him, though, he was fucking out.

He stared at his notebook and the half dozen crossed-out ideas for both Maria and Alex, growing more frustrated by the minute. Thankfully, he’d started working on breads recently. Kneading dough was excellent stress relief, and a pretty reasonable workout, too -- he probably could have used the kitchenaid, but honestly he was appreciating the physical outlet. Pretty much every time he got too pissy, he had to get up and knead the dough, as if it was perfectly timed to his anxiety.

But eventually, that bread had to go in the oven, and Michael started pacing around. 

He needed to do something. And after the cinnamon roll disaster -- three days in and nothing from Maria yet -- he was pretty sure showing up at the Pony would be a shitshow.

So maybe it was time to switch gears for a little sanctioned stalking.

Problem was, Alex didn’t actually hang out with a lot of people. Forrest (ugh), sure. Maria, who was off the table for obvious reasons. Liz, but Liz and Alex didn’t seem all that close lately. Truthfully, racking his brain, Michael only could identify Kyle as a potential informant. 

He supposed it was time to give those keto muffins a go. And developing the recipe and ordering the ingredients was going to take some time anyway, a good distraction while the bread baked.

A few days and a hefty Amazon order later, he was absolutely cursing Kyle’s dedication to his six-pack. The unfamiliar ingredients in those damned muffins were a: expensive as _fuck_ , and b: a bitch to work with. 

He supposed, though, that one had to make some sacrifices for love. Even if these sacrifices included unflavored whey protein powder. _Ugh_.

Whatever. These were not even getting taste-tested. If they ended up a disaster, Kyle would get them anyway. Okay, maybe not if they were burned, his fictional girlfriend needed her reputation preserved. Thankfully they came out… okay looking. And the keto candied bacon actually looked pretty fucking good. 

God, this was probably a terrible idea. He scowled at the box of muffins on the seat next to him. “He better fucking appreciate you,” he said under his breath before he scooped up the box and headed into the hospital, looking for Kyle’s office. 

“Guerin,” Kyle said surprised, when Michael poked his head into Kyle’s office. He was sitting behind his desk with a couple patient charts spread out and a laptop. Nothing out of ordinary there except...  
  
“You wear glasses?!” Michael gaped. Dr. Jock in glasses was blowing his mind. Kyle almost looked _respectable_.

“You go to medical school and see if you come out with perfect vision,” Kyle said defensively, pulling off the thick, dark brown frames. “So you coming in or what?”  
  
“Oh right,” Michael said, shaking off the shock and stepping inside with the pastry box in tow. Now it was Kyle’s turn to be surprised. A look of dismay flitted across Kyle’s face so quickly, Michael almost didn’t catch it, before his expression became a very good imitation of someone who was pleasantly surprised to find themselves about to be presented with carbs. Michael supposed that if nothing else, he could say that Kyle was super fucking tactful.

“Guerin you shouldn’t have…”

“I didn’t,” Michael lied immediately. Honestly, why did people keep jumping to that dumbass conclusion? “These are from--”  
  
“Right. The baker girlfriend.” Kyle nodded, eyeing the box warily where it was set down in front of him. “I mean I really appreciate it.” He didn’t take the box, though, Michael noted with mild exasperation. “But I’m a little surprised honestly...”   
  
“They’re keto,” Michael interrupted. Most people would have ripped the box open by now. Literally and figuratively. People get really excited over pastries. Normal people do anyway. “Figured you were, like, the only person I know who’d be brave enough to try them.” A little flattery never hurt, right? Even if it was total bullshit and they both knew it. 

Finally, Kyle opened the box, looking inside and picking up one of the muffins. Unfortunately, they didn’t look exactly like traditional muffins, lacking the puffy mushroom tops. These ones were almost entirely flat, a little pale in color. But at least the vanilla glaze and candied bacon made them look less bland and boring and tasteless.   
  
“Your girlfriend just decided to make keto muffins,” Kyle said, glancing up at Michael in disbelief.

“She’s practicing. Seen a drop in business since keto and vegan diets became all the rage, so she’s looking into diversifying.”

Kyle looked between the muffins and Michael for a moment. Speculative.   
  
“Thanks, man,” he finally said and took a bite. “Oh wow these are good!”   
  
Michael could scarcely believe that. “Really?”

“Yeah for a low carb muffin,” Kyle laughed and took another bite. “Pretty good for a first attempt. I’d say around 350 calories, since they don’t taste like dust.” 

Michael snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re probably spot on. I’ll let her know that they’ve been tested and approved. Unless you have any suggestions for improvement?” 

“Just don’t go over 375 calories and put the amount of protein on the little card.” Kyle shrugged and shoved another one in his mouth, already grabbing a third. 

Michael was a little surprised that Kyle was stuffing them down his throat like that. A little pleased even, because that clearly meant that they didn’t suck. 

“Been seeing patients all day, Guerin,” Kyle explained. Michael’s surprise must have been clear on his face. “I haven’t eaten yet and it’s hard to find decent stuff like this freshly made.” 

Michael supposed he was right. That fad never really took off in Roswell. 

There was a long awkward pause, where Michael mostly just watched Kyle decide whether or not to grab another muffin.

“... You’ve been hanging out with Alex a lot lately, yeah?” He asked, as Kyle decided just to go for it.

“I mean, I guess,” Kyle said, a little muffled by muffin. “Why?”   
  
Michael paused unsure how to ask in a nonchalant roundabout way about the dessert preferences of a guy that he used to date. “Well, since I’m coming into so many calories lately… Izzy’s been giving me a lot of shit. Trying to get me to go on her psycho 10 mile runs.” He paused, shrugging. “Which is why I’m pawning so much stuff off. I know what most of the people in this town like to eat, but I’m not really sure what he would like? I don’t want to bring him carrot cake out of pity or something.” 

Kyle sucked up the remains of his iced coffee as he thought about it. “Does it have to be sweets? The sweetest thing I’ve ever seen Alex eat is a KitKat. Mostly during long nights researching the horrors of Project Shepard, he subsists off Flaming Hot Cheetos and Cherry Pepsi. Oh I guess he likes Cherry Pepsi. That’s sweet. Yeah and sometimes he mixes in the KitKats with the Cheetos.”

Michael could feel the horror on his face. Kyle nodded. “Yeah I know. It’s horrible. The calories alone.”

“Forget the calories, that sounds disgusting!” Michael sputtered. “How does the man not have permanent indigestion? How are you not stuffing salads down his throat all the time?” 

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Dude, it’s not like we’re best friends. And I’m definitely not his mommy or his boyfriend.”

Useless. Kyle fucking Valenti. Why did he expect anything different? “You’re still a doctor. Aren’t you supposed to care about like… heart disease and shit?” 

“I’m a surgeon. Call it job security,” Kyle said, dryly. “Speaking of, I got like a half hour before I gotta get back in on a consult and I was hoping to get some shut-eye…” 

Michael balled his frustration into his chest, letting out a breath. “Yeah, man. Enjoy the rest of them. Thanks for taste testing.” And fuck it. He swiped one, because he had to know what they actually fucking tasted like. 

For science.

(He supposed it was palatable. But he was never going through baking ridiculously-priced monstrosities like that again. It was the principle of the matter.)

* * *

“The fuck is folding,” Michael said out loud, staring at the recipe on his phone. 

Isobel looked up from where she was putting on a pair of nice, sensible black pumps by the door. She was meeting a client in an hour. “You’re not serious?” 

“What?” 

“Cowboy Dominique Ansel doesn’t know what folding is?” 

“Who?” 

Isobel rolled her eyes. “One of New Yo--”  
  
“Ugh whatever.” Michael rolled his eyes. Not interested in any of that elitist bakery shit. There was a bag of Wal-Mart brand Lady Fingers (Liz called him Mikey too many times to deserve ones made from scratch) on the counter next to him for fuck’s sake. 

“I just want to know how the hell you got this far without having ever read or googled the term ‘folding’ Michael, that’s all,” Isobel said, dryly as she came over to swipe one of the Lady Fingers, making a tiny face. Okay, maybe they weren’t good enough. “Even I know it. It just means gently combining the ingredients by _folding_ them over each other.”

Michael scowled, “When recipes want me to gently combine the ingredients they just say that."

Isobel was laughing and he elbowed her, lightly. “Don’t be a shit,” she chided. 

“You’re the one being a shit,” Michael shot back, grumpy. Her light laughter didn’t help.

“Nonsense, I am always a delight.”  
  
Michael snorted and started _folding_ the mascarpone mixture over sweetened egg yolk mixture.   
  
“What are you making?” Isobel asked.

“Tiramisu,” Michael answered. “For Liz,” he added before she brought up Maria. And of course she raised an eyebrow at his tone, but thankfully did not comment.   
  
“Ah, that’s what you’re wasting my espresso on,” Isobel commented, looking down at a bowl of espresso mixed with what was likely Grand Marnier since there was an open bottle of it next to the bowl. The rum was by Michael because he’d just recently beat it together with the mascarpone.   
  
“It’s not my fault all you have are fancy artisanal beans,” Michael said dryly, shooing her away from the bowl so he could get back to work. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“I do. But now I’m worried you won’t know what some other common baking term is. How will you ever move forward?” She said with mock concern.  
  
Michael rolled his eyes. “Google.” He swung his spatula in her direction so that flecks of the sugary mixture fell in her direction. Wrinkling her nose, she stepped quickly back towards the door, before any of it could get on her silk shirt.   
  
“Bye!” Michael said before she could open her smart mouth. He swung the spatula threatening again. Sure would be a shame if her nice clothes got all covered in mascarpone and eggs. “Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”

She let out an indignant noise. “You’re lucky I love you, Michael Guerin!

* * *

  
Michael arrived at the Crashdown a little after closing. He’d expected to find Liz cleaning up but Rosa was there, instead. He could see her through the glass window, bopping along to the music on the jukebox as she refilled the napkin dispensers. Feeling a little guilty for disturbing her, he knocked on the glass to grab her attention. 

She went to yank the door open, with an arched brow. “Yeah?” 

“Oh. Uh. Rosa. _Linda_.” He said, awkwardly, as a random couple walked passed them on the street. 

“Love the way that rolls off your tongue,” Rosa teased. “Nothing suspicious at all about that.” 

“Ugh shut up,” Michael said, awkwardness fading away. “Is uh... Liz around?”

“No, she’s out with Max.” She paused, looking curious. “What’s in the box?” 

“Well I was bringing it for her…”   
  
She snorted and snatched it out of his hands. “Oh shut up and come in _._ ” Opening it even as she walked towards the bar. “Tiramisu?” 

“Uh. Yeah?”   
  
“Kind of boring, but I can hang. Get us some forks, will you, ET? What information were you going to try to pump out of Liz with this?” 

Michael choked a little, but yeah, he floated a couple forks, a knife, and a couple plates along with them. “Who says I’m pumping anyone for information? I mean... how are you? How’s… things?” God, what was she even doing with her life, right now? Obviously not school. Working at the Crashdown? His brain was absolutely bluescreening. 

“Kyle and I text, y’know? I mean, he is my brother, apparently,” she says, with an eyebrow raised. “And I’ve been getting all the cake gossip from Liz. I’m not an idiot. So…” She trailed off, expectantly. 

“I… what… you...” He sputtered. Great. He was made. Why was there even a pretense at this point? 

“ _Relax_. I don’t give a shit and I was going to “find out” anyway when I went over to talk to Izzy about some art she wants to buy off me or whatever.”

“You are _sworn_ to secrecy.” He gritted out, uselessly he felt. But he was also curious. “Izzy’s looping you into her home decor?” That was an odd match. 

“I guess she’s tired of tasteless, boring, minimal walls.” Rosa shrugged, nonchalant. “So spit it out. What did you want to get out of Liz?”

“Fuck, fine, okay,” he said, frustrated. “I dunno if you can help though.” 

She was digging right into the cake, with a happy sigh. Either unaware of Michael’s irritation or completely unphased by it. “Probably not,” she said, cheerfully, but waved for him to continue. 

“Okay.” He let out a breath. The veneer was running fucking thin. “Alex wants cake.” 

“Obviously,” she said, dryly. “Everyone wants cake. Enough to let you keep this stupid lie going.” 

Michael frowned. Why was it that everyone knew everything about everyone except for him? It was getting frustrating and definitely embarrassing. 

“So Alex wants cake. What’s the problem?” 

Michael let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what he likes.” 

“What?” 

“I don’t know what the fuck he _likes_!” He burst out. Grimacing and taking a bite of the tiramisu. The light sweetness of it did little to calm him down. He was however glad that he’d gotten a better brand of Ladyfingers. The Wal-Mart ones would have been edible but not giftable. 

“Didn’t you two date like… for a decade?” She asked, leveling him with a rather withering glare. 

“Not exactly.” They glared at each other for a moment because he didn’t need her judgement. It was an especially _long_ moment because they were both equally stubborn. In the end, Michael just gave up because he needed the information. “It’s… it was _complicated_ , Rosa. Long story short, I don’t think we ever had an actual meal together that wasn’t like… top ramen or gas station sandwiches in the back of my truck. So do me a solid, throw me a bone.” 

Rosa snorted. “I don’t think it’s _me_ you want throwing you a bone," she muttered, before she took another bite.   
  
“Har har.” Michael rolled his eyes. 

“You know this is really good,” Rosa said, licking cream from her fingers happily. 

“Yeah, I know. Talk or I telekinetically smush it into your hair.” 

She gasped. “You…” She sputtered. “I’m not... I…” 

Michael floated the tiramisu off the table, threateningly. 

“Fine, fine fine!” Rosa laughed, reaching for his hand. “Jesus, Michael, calm down. It’s been like a decade since he hung out with me. I mean. A little less time for me, but whatever.” Waving her hand a little. “I remember the boy could eat like.. anything.” 

“Yeah, I already know that he has a stomach of steel,” he said, frustrated. “I’m looking for what he _likes_.” 

She shrugged. “Honestly, I dunno. I’m gonna guess you already know his Crashdown order, so other than that… why don’t you ask one of his family members?” At the look Michael gave her, she added, “Like Greg. Not fucking Flint.”

He shrugged a little. “I dunno. I don’t really know Greg all that well, I guess?”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s the nicest of that family. Honestly like switched-at-birth nice.” Rosa wrinkled her nose. “I’d hate it if he weren’t so earnest about it. He’s such a puppy. Reminds me a bit of Max, actually. Much less annoying in Greg though.”

“You’re probably right.” Michael sighed a little. He did not relish the idea of having to drive all the way to the fucking Rez for the answer to a question that really shouldn’t be that difficult to answer. “Anyway, what’s this deal you’re making with Izzy?” 

Rosa shrugged. “She wants a gallery wall of local artists. Not exactly sure why she wants me to be part of it, but I’m happy to take some of creepy Noah’s money off her hands.” She grinned, a little sharply. 

“I can imagine.” Michael nodded. 

“So you gonna drop the rest of this off at Maria’s?” Rosa asked as Michael was taking another bite, and he could swear she did it just to try and make him choke.   
  
“Now who’s pumping who for information?” He asked, waving his fork at her, sour. Of course she had to remind him of that. “No, I wasn’t planning on it. She isn’t exactly the type to love stalking, even if it comes with cake.”

“I’ll take it then,” Rosa said, lightly, polishing off the last of her slice.   
  
“I mean, that’s why I brought it?” Michael raised his eyebrow at her. 

“No, idiot, I mean, I’ll take it over to her. Been meaning to hang with Maria for a while. Tiramisu goes with coffee, right?” 

Michael stared at her, for a long moment. “I mean, it’s soaked in coffee, so… sure.” 

“Perfect.” She grinned. And somehow, Michael was _not_ reassured, at all.

* * *

He got Greg’s number from Rosa before he’d left the Crashdown, and texted him that he wanted to stop by and talk. Despite Michael’s nerves, Greg proved everyone right about him. He was ridiculously warm and invited him to come up the next day, during his lunch break. And when Michael had offered to bring cookies for the kids, Greg had immediately texted back with a yes please and a note that none of his kids had allergies so he could go wild. 

He sat on a bench on the edge of the school playground with a box full of cookies, feeling just a bit like a creeper, out of place. Hoping that no hall monitor would come up and scold him, even though he had to check in at the front desk and get a badge and everything.

Thankfully, he was only there a few minutes before the classroom doors were opening. He relaxed and waved as he saw Greg, leading a group of rambunctious kids over his way.

“Mr. Guerin! Glad you could make it!” Greg smiled, turning to his class. “Okay kids. My friend, Mr. Guerin here, brought you an extra-special treat today--” Whatever else he was about to say was drowned out by a chorus of excited shouts, and the kids pushed forwards, as Michael flipped the box open to reveal the cookies.

“Hey!” Greg called out over the din of tiny excited voices. “You can’t take a cookie from Michael until you say--” 

Michael tried and failed not to laugh as the kids just stared up at Greg in bewilderment. They were all under five and completely bewitched by the giant box of chocolate chip cookies sitting open in Michael’s lap.   
  
“Thank you, Mr. Guerin,” one of them finally said, a little boy with hair that seemed to spike up naturally and the biggest brown eyes Michael had ever seen. Michael couldn’t help thinking of Alex.   
  
“Thank you, Mr Guerin!” The rest of the group chorused when Greg showed his exasperated approval. What little self control was left in them evaporated and Michael was swarmed by tiny sticky people, each trying to get as many cookies as possible.   
  
“One at a time!” Michael laughed. “There’s enough for everyone!” But he really was feeling like he was being swarmed by a pack of adorable piranha. It was honestly the best thing ever.

“Yeah, should have handed them out,” Greg said with weary amusement as he sat down next to Michael on the bench at the edge of the playground, watching the kids run off in every direction. Now that they had the cookies, the two of them didn’t matter anymore. 

“Probably,” Michael laughed. For the first time in a week, Michael found his mood lifted. 

He set the empty box next to him and handed Greg the one cookie he had braved death to save for him.   
  
“Thanks,” Greg chuckled, taking a bite. “Oh this is really good. Are those macadamia nuts?” 

Michael nodded. “Yeah I’ve made a lot of chocolate chip cookies recently. Wanted something a little different but still palatable for the kids.” 

“Really good,” Greg said. “Kind of regret letting the kids have them.”   
  
“I’ll send up another batch soon.” And he would. Not just because he wanted to schmooze information out of him. He owed Greg a lot; he could send him a tin of cookies.

Greg smiled. “So why’d you really come up? Can’t believe you made this drive just to give out some cookies.” 

Michael flushed. “Ah… well… I wanted to make Alex a cake.”

Greg’s smile didn’t waver but he looked curious, gently concerned. “I thought you weren’t interested in pursuing anything with Alex.”

These fucking Manes. Too damn direct. Michael’s first reaction was to deflect or deny but looking at Greg’s earnest face made the words die in his mouth. Sighing, Michael turned his attention back towards the kids, who were scaling and jumping all over the jungle gyms like miniature American Ninja Warriors. 

“I don’t think baking a cake is a declaration of anything, Greg,” Michael began, slowly working out his thoughts even as he spoke. “But I guess this is like opening a dialogue.”

“Just a dialogue?”  
  
“Alex is dating Forrest, you do know that right?”   
  
“I’m aware,” Greg said as someone who very much didn’t think that was going to last. “Forrest seems like a nice guy and all but…”   
  
Michael shakes his head. “Look, I’m down for Forrest bashing usually but something about doing it with Alex’s brother…”   
  
“Fair enough,” Greg said. “So you want to bake a cake for Alex and… you drove three hours to ask me what kind?” Greg grinned at Michael’s discomfort. “Guess why you two aren’t together makes a lot more sense now.”   
  
At Michael’s expression, Greg lifted his hands up. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I don’t know all the details but I know you guys are complicated.”   
  
“To put it mildly,” Michael said, accepting the apology. 

But Greg had hit a nerve. This was at the crux of his week long irritation, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t just about Alex either. It was about Maria. It was about _both_ of them. It was about what he didn’t know about them. What he wasn’t privy to. What he’d never been privy to, and might never be. He always felt left on the outskirts of their lives. With Alex it manifested in all the little boring things Michael never knew about him. With Maria it was all the important things that she shut him out of because he was too much. And all he really ever wanted was for them to trust him enough to let him _in_.

He let out a breath, kind of wishing that he’d saved a cookie for himself, too. “How much _do_ you know, about us?” 

Greg shrugged a little, looking at him. “Just that you were kind of the one that got away, I guess?” 

Michael blinked at that summation, and laughed, biting his lip on some decidedly not-safe-for-school language. “Is that how he thought of me?” He flexed his now-healed hand, rubbed where the scar tissue _should_ be, where it should still ache. “Guess the feeling was mutual.” _Is_ _mutual_ , a quiet voice in his brain reminded him, and he shoved it aside. “Your dad found us, together. And right around then, things really went to shit with my family. And I guess I didn’t handle any of it very well.” 

Greg listened quietly, and Michael didn’t feel anything but sympathy off of him. No skepticism, no judgment. No sarcastic amusement. He almost didn’t know what to do with it. 

“Anyway, Alex meant... _means_ more to me than most people. But all I really know about him are these really big, terrible things. We never really got a chance to be a normal couple. Or even friends. And now...” He trailed off, uncertainly. 

“Now you have a chance to make things better?” Greg prompted, nodding in understanding. 

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, relieved. “I guess I just want to open that door.”

“Gotcha.” Greg smiled. “For the record? I don’t think you need to bribe him with cake for that.”

Michael snorted. “Oh no. I have been informed that he _must_ have cake.” Greg shook his head, looking for all the world like he’s trying not to laugh. “What?” Michael demanded.   
  
“Nothing. You guys are just a lot alike.” Greg smiled. “Anyway, Alex likes strong flavors. Vinegar, dark chocolate, ring of fire spicy…. Stuff like that. And he really likes contrasting flavors too. He’s always been the type to mix weird things together just because.”   
  
“I’ve heard,” Michael said dryly, but this was really good. Now they were actually getting somewhere.

“Mom used to tuck a bar of spicy chocolate in his presents every year, too,” Greg said, thoughtfully. “He used to _hoard_ those.” 

“Hoard?” Michael asked, baking nearly forgotten at this point. He just wanted to just hear more about Alex, feeling like he was getting a forbidden peek in learning such mundane details.

“Oh yeah. Forever practical, that one. He understood delayed gratification at a very, very young age.”  
  
Michael smiled, fondly. “That sounds like Alex.” 

“Yeah…. Hopefully that’s enough to go on?” Greg sounded and looked amused. In pretty much anyone else, Michael would feel like he was being made fun of. 

“Right. Yeah.” Michael nodded. “Thanks, man, I owe you.” 

“So.” Greg’s hand landed on his back. “Let’s talk about the elephant on the playground before you go?” 

“Uh…?” 

“What is going on? Aren’t you and Maria a thing?” Greg asked, bluntly. “Kind of a dick move to be pining after someone if you’re in a relationship with another.” 

Michael groaned. “I don’t suppose ‘it’s complicated’ is going to get me out of this, either?” 

“Nope,” Greg said, patting his back. There was nothing forceful in his tone but Michael could sense a brotherly protectiveness from him. “Talk, man.” 

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She broke up with me. A while back, now. But… yeah. I still have feelings for her. For both of them.” Shooting a look over at Greg, hoping he didn’t look guilty. He was still working on not _feeling_ guilty over that. 

“So it’s done between you two?” 

“Yeah. No? I don’t know.” He let out a heavy breath. “I hope not.” He finally settled on that. “But I’m not angling for anything from either of them.” 

Greg raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?” He didn’t sound convinced. 

Michael bit his lip on a knee-jerk, defensive joke. Greg was being nice. He could be nice back. “I want them to be happy. And I want to be part of their lives. Even if it’s not romantically. Honestly, it’s probably better if it isn’t, since that’s not gone so well for any of us.” Pulling off his hat, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he sounded way too sorry for himself. When did he become the emo one? “I want to see what it’s like without that pressure…” He tried, breaking off. God, he sounded stupid. “I told you it was complicated.”  
  
“Yes you did,” Greg said, sounding a little tired, but tired _for_ Michael not because of him. That was a kind of sympathy Michael still wasn’t very used too. He desperately wanted to be used to it, though. 

“Hey, what is the going rate for therapy nowadays?” He half-joked, trying to relieve some of the tension. 

“Sixty cookies an hour,” Greg said, dryly. Michael had brought thirty, and Greg’s break was a half hour.

Michael shook his head, amused. “Math checks out.”

Greg laughed a little. “So…. Let’s just say that things work out. What happens if both of them want you back?”

Now it was Michael’s turn to laugh, and it sounded bitter even to his own ears. “I know you don’t know me that well. But if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m nowhere _near_ that lucky.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some recipe inspo for this chapter: 
> 
> https://alldayidreamaboutfood.com/keto-coffee-cake-muffins/ (neither of us have made these. We were possibly unnecessarily harsh on them, but what can we say, we love gluten)
> 
> https://betterthanbreadketo.com/keto-candied-bacon/
> 
> https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/tiramisu/ (Another thing we have not made, which is a damned shame. beautifulcheat may have to do so)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria stops by with ice cream ingredients and a recipe.

“Maria?” Michael said, bemused as he stood in the doorway of Isobel’s apartment, hand still on the doorknob. Maria stood across the threshold, looking a little awkward, but so pretty. Her hair was down in loose waves over her shoulders, the afternoon sun in her curls, wearing a vibrant purple dress. 

“Hey,” she started, taking a breath, looking like she was gathering courage. It was weird to be on the other side of those nerves. “I heard you were thinking of trying out the ice cream attachment on Izzy’s kitchenaid.” She lifted up the purple canvas bag in her hand. It had little half moons and star prints, constellations.  
  
 _Isobel._ Michael tried not to frown. “I guess my secret’s out,” he said with a wry laugh.  
  
“It was never in, darling,” Maria replied, patiently. Then after a beat, she added, “Can I… come in?”

“Oh yes! Yeah, of course!” He stepped out of the way and Maria walked past him, deeper into Isobel’s apartment, leaving her familiar scent of freesia and jasmine behind. It smelled good and did nothing to relieve his anxiety.

“What’d you bring?” He asked. Practically diving for his old ass laptop, closing it. He’d been looking up recipes for Alex all morning. 

“Hm?” She was curiously peeking at his journal. He didn’t grab it, because that would be rude, but he did flush a little. “Stuff for coffee bourbon ice cream.” 

He smiled softly. “That sounds great.” 

“Yeah. Isobel was complaining that you were using all her fancy espresso, so I brought coffee…” Pulling it out, “bourbon, whipping cream, and chocolate chips. I’m just assuming you’ve got vanilla and eggs and stuff.” 

“Decent assumption,” he says, with a somewhat grudging laugh. “I..” _I’m surprised to see you. I thought you were mad at me. I’m a little mad at you_. None of them felt right. “I’m excited to try it out.” That was true, too. “You brought the recipe, I hope?”

“Of course!” She said, cheerily, pulling out some printed pages and handing them over. “Ready to get started? I can be your sous chef?”

Michael was going to have to turn the AC up if he was going to keep flushing. “All right.” He hummed, looking the recipe over and going to grab a pot. “You want to measure out the milk and the cream?” He asked, pulling out a measuring cup for her, handing it over. 

“On it, boss.” 

Oh that felt _weird_. Michael shot her a look, laughing a bit, and measuring out the coffee beans, sugar and the salt, tossing them in the pot. Waiting for Maria to get the wet ingredients in before stirring it and turning the stove on. 

“So. Uh… how’ve you been?” He asked, hoping that it sounded less awkward than it felt. At least slowly stirring the mixture (even if the recipe didn’t call for continual stirring) gave his hands something to do. 

“Good,” she said, automatically, then stopped. “Not great, actually. Training’s been hard.” She hesitated for a moment. “Sorry I never thanked you for the cinnamon rolls. But.. they were _really_ good. And kind of perfect headache comfort food.” 

He bit his lip and reminded himself that this is what he wanted. He wanted Maria to let him in, even to the big and scary stuff. But it was still terrifying. “You’re feeling better now though?” 

“Yeah,” she said, and she was smiling when he dared to look over at her. “A lot better. And a lot stronger.” 

“That’s... good.”

She made a little face, and the air felt like it was thickening a little. “It is, Michael. And I don’t just mean in my powers. In my control.” 

The milk was just bubbling, so he turned the stove off, looking at her. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, reaching to touch his arm, gently. Her hands were soft and felt cool against his skin. “Do you want to hear about it? Really? Or are you just going to worry yourself into a knot?” 

He looked down at the coffee mixture, stirring it once more. “Probably both,” he said, and added softly, “But I want to know, Maria. You have to know that.” 

“I guess I do.” She reached to pick up the directions. “So we need an ice bath, I guess?” Her voice was just a bit shaky and Michael longed to just pull her into his arms. He shifted to stand a little behind her though, peeking at the recipe. 

“Sounds like fun. Wanna set up the ice bath?” He couldn’t help but brush his hand over her arm gently and notice she didn’t immediately pull away from his touch. It was a relief. While they were dating, he hadn’t realized how used to casual touch between him and Maria he had been. He had definitely noticed how much he missed it though.

“Okay.” She nodded, moved away to find the metal bowls and a strainer while Michael measured out another cup of cream. Soon enough though, it was chilling and they still had at least a half hour to wait for the coffee to steep. 

“You get a lot of downtime, I’m guessing. What do you usually do?” 

“Um.” Michael looked over at the living room, awkwardly. “When Izzy’s here, she makes me watch dumb shows. And when I’m alone, sometimes I’ll throw on a documentary, but I’m usually just researching recipes and stuff.”

“I always forget how much of a nerd you are.” She laughed a bit… and headed out to the couch, holding up the journal. “Can I look?” 

“Ugh.” He groaned, dropping onto the couch with her. “Sure, fine.” 

She smiled… and shifted to lean against him, her shoulder resting against his. It felt like he could breathe for the first time in weeks. 

“So you’ve got a whole ideas notebook for everyone?” She asked, voice rich with what he recognized as fond amusement. 

“Mn. I guess I was bored.” 

Maria’s perfectly manicured fingers smoothed over the page -- her page. Lots of ideas, some crossed out, some checked off. “This isn’t just bored, Guerin,” she said softly. 

Sanders’ words echoed in his head, quietly. _Baking is something you do for people you love._ Ugh. This was not the first time those words haunted him. That man was going to be the voice of his conscience, wasn’t he?

“I guess not,” he admitted. 

Maria didn’t respond, just reading, and it felt like the most intimate thing in the world. He turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of her expression, but he just ended up with her curls in his face. Surrounded by the scent of _Shea Moisture,_ he remembered lying in her bed, watching her applying hair cream as she styled her hair in the morning. He turned his face away, trying not to be the weirdo sniffing his ex-girlfriend’s hair. 

“What do you think?” He asked, clearing his throat a little.

“Mn. I’d take offense that three-quarters of these are booze inspired if I hadn’t brought bourbon ice cream ingredients over already,” she said, dryly.   
  
Michael laughed. “C’mon, us borderline alcoholics need to stick together.” 

“You haven’t been in as much, I’m not sure you qualify anymore.” She grinned, looking up at him. “I got to admit, it’s been a little weird. Your barstool’s not gonna have your ass dent in it anymore.” 

He snorted. “Oh please, I’ve worked hard to make that stool hug my ass the way it does. It’s not changing overnight.” This. This felt so normal and good. Michael felt energized just by the normalcy of bantering back and forth with Maria. 

“You better hope,” she laughed softly. Then, “Still you should come over more often. I’ll even let you steal a drink as incentive.” 

“You always let me steal drinks.” 

“You know I keep a tab, Guerin,” she said lightly, tapping her temple. “I know exactly how many you’ve stolen over the years.”

“Yeah, ruthless mercenary, I know.” Jokes aside, her business acumen was one of the things he admired most about her. No one could hustle like Maria DeLuca. It was, he had to admit in his less-lazy moments, inspiring.  
  
“Bar feels wrong without you, Guerin,” Maria continued after a beat. “Empty. Always has.” 

Michael chewed on his lower lip. “I miss it. But… I don’t know. Felt like you needed space. And I figured I needed a healthier hobby than liver destruction.”

“You’re right. On both counts,” Maria chuckled. Then sighed. She listed to the side just a little, until her head was on his shoulder. “But I don’t think I was the only one that needed space…?”  
  
Michael thought about it; about how sad and lonely he’s been. Angry and frustrated. Sitting around feeling sorry for himself. Feeling like he wasn’t good enough for anyone. Again. 

That had not been great, even if it did result in a few good cakes. 

“We broke up,” he reminded her.  
  
“We did,” she agreed, sadness in her tone. And maybe regret. Her thumb rubbed his journal gently, over the crossed-out ideas for Alex, the scribbled notes about his Crashdown order and Kit Kats and Cheetos. Michael swallowed, the ache in his chest an old friend by now. 

“Spicy chocolate,” she murmured softly. “I remember sharing these candy bars his mom used to get him…”

Of course. Michael smiled. “If I’d known it was as easy as just talking to you, I wouldn’t have had to fight for my life against a dozen of Greg’s sugar-crazed kindergartners for that information.” 

Maria chuckled, giving him a look. “Now that, I’d like to see.” 

“Maybe someday…”

They lapsed into an awkward silence. 

They needed to talk about the elephant in the room, but neither of them really wanted to. That was clear. As much as Michael wanted to be a part of her life, wanted to know everything that she was going through, walk that path with her, it was scary. So damn scary. All he could see was Mimi, wandering the deserts alone, confusing reality with fantasy. Or Maria, eyes wide and terrified, as another vision cut through her. And he was just standing there, helpless, unable to do anything. That was the worst part wasn’t it? The lack of control. The inability to help. 

Michael hated feeling useless.

He took a deep breath. If this whole baking adventure had taught him anything it’s that he wanted to be part of her life. All of her life. The alternative just sucked. So he had to be patient with her and possibly with himself too. But most importantly, he needed to stop thinking of Maria as something that needed fixing, like a broken carburetor. 

“Tell me about your training,” he asked, softly. “I promise I won’t freak out or try to force you to wear the bracelet.” 

He could feel her smile against his shoulder. “Okay.” She nodded, a little. “Isobel is a good teacher, you know? Surprisingly good, even if I still want to strangle her half the time.”

“You and me both,” Michael said, dryly. “As soon as she leaves her kitchenaid to me in her will, I’ll probably end up murdering her.”

Maria laughed, softly. “Fair. Mn. Her big thing is that effort doesn’t equal control. She thinks that the harder I work at keeping control, the harder it is to maintain it. And I hate to admit it, but she’s right. When I work - either to see things or even _not_ to see them - I get headaches, the visions last longer. I feel… unstuck longer.” 

He frowned a little. “So what does that mean?” 

“I’m working on just accepting them. Letting them pass, like a wave in the ocean.” 

“What if you get dragged in an undertow?” He asked. Worry spiking. Old habits die hard. He took a breath. “Sorry I--”  
  
“No that’s a good question.” Maria nodded and looked up at him. Her eyes were dark and soft and Michael could so easily fall into them. If not for the effort it took to keep his anxiety from spiraling. “I worry about that myself. Isobel and I have talked about an anchor. Something that I can use to draw me back to reality.” 

“How so?”  
  
“Like something I can touch. Like a necklace. Or something I can focus on. A fond memory… a person’s face.” 

“Oh.” Michael wished he were brave enough to ask her what she was using. “You think it’s helping?”

Maria nodded. “Yeah. I’m not having as much trouble getting out of them, and I’ve had fewer headaches. Haven’t had a nosebleed in weeks.” 

He reached for her hand, squeezing it. Maria squeezed his hand in return. “... I’m glad Izzy’s helping. And that it’s getting better.” 

“Me too,” she agreed. “And I think it’s time for you to temper some eggs.” Smiling. “I want my ice cream, Guerin.” 

“Shit yeah.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, hurrying to the kitchen. Maria followed, putting the milk back in the saucepan over medium heat while Michael quickly started separating the egg yolks before whisking them. 

While slowly adding the yolk to the saucepan, he asked, “Any interesting visions?”  
  
“Weirdly they’ve been about the regulars lately, which I’m not super enjoying to tell you the truth,” Maria laughed. “I guess not all visions are going to be about a life that needs saving. Sometimes it’s just about how Ben Jankowski is gonna lose his wallet in the next hour. I did tell Ben to mind his wallet though, so I guess that was a small good deed.”

“I think so.” Michael smiled.  
  
“Sometimes the visions aren’t of the future,” Maria continued, adding the milk cream into the mixture at Michael’s direction. “They’re of the past and I’m still not really sure why I get them but they’re the most worrying...”  
  
“Because of Mimi,” Michael finished and Maria nodded. Mimi was always lost in time after all. Michael rubbed her back gently. “Do you think they have something to do with what’s happening in the present?”  
  
“Isobel and I have talked about it, but we’re not sure,” Maria admitted, eyeing him carefully. And yeah that’s fair. Michael made sure to hold her gaze, maybe a little more challenging than he had meant too. But it made her smile so that was ok.  
  
“Yeah we’re not sure what triggers them,” Maria continued. “And those are the ones that feel the most real. The hardest to drag myself out of.”  
  
Michael hated this part. Absolutely hated it. He focused on the eggs he was whisking, and slowly ladling warm milk over them.   
  
“But it’s getting a little easier,” Maria added, as if seeing how he was tensing up.  
  
“The anchor?”  
  
“Yeah, that and just understanding what’s happening in the first place.” 

And that was the point of everything wasn’t it. It’s like anything else really. “Like with baking,” Michael started, feeling dumb but still moving forward with the analogy. “It’s the practice.”  
  
“It’s the practice,” Maria agreed, bumping him with her hip. “You dweeb.” 

Michael laughed a little, letting the tension go, concentrating on stirring the ice cream base, waiting for it to thicken. Eventually, he turned the heat off, and shifted to quickly strain the mixture into the chilled cream. 

Maria was picking up the recipe… and her face fell a little. “This says we need to chill it for several hours. Overnight is best.” 

He really wanted to quip that she should just stay the night. He didn’t, though, going to peek at the recipe. “And then we need to freeze it _after_ , too.” 

“I had no idea ice cream was so complicated.” She was practically pouting, which Michael found truly unfair. She was so cute. 

“Well.” He chewed his lip a little. “Why don’t I bring the finished product to you tomorrow?” 

“Seems unfair to make you do all that extra work by yourself,” Maria said. She wasn’t looking at him and he wondered what she could be thinking. _He_ was thinking that she was probably going to leave now without the convenient ice cream excuse. 

“What work? Let me see that.” Taking the recipe from her, he reviewed the last of the directions and laughed. “Yes, I see. Gotta pour bourbon in there. That’s something only an experienced barmaid can do.”  
  
“You--did you just call me a barmaid?!” Maria demanded, grabbing a dish towel and hitting him with it, with an expert flick of her wrist. It just made Michael laugh harder.  
  
God, it felt like old times. He swallowed against a lump in his throat that was probably joy. “My _point_ is that I think I can handle it.” 

Maria lifted her hands up in surrender. “I cannot argue with the master.”  
  
“Ugh that’s just wrong,” Michael groaned. Maria had always been in charge, and that was the way they both liked it. He actually hadn’t meant to say that out loud though, a little startled when Maria started laughing -- and laughed and laughed. He was relieved at that, and the way that she carefully wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. Bedroom talk was probably inappropriate right now, but apparently it was still funny. 

After storing the mixture in the freezer, it didn’t take very long to clean up. Michael washed the dishes, and Maria dried them before putting them away. They didn’t speak much during that time, only when Maria asked where something belonged. It probably wasn’t a tense silence, but it felt that way to Michael, who was racking his brain for a reason to have her stay. 

He knew he should probably leave well enough alone. They had a good talk. They were, Michael felt, in a better place than they were before. It would be best if she left before he stuck his foot in his mouth.

Except that he didn’t want her to go. And he thought that she didn’t either. He caught her peeking over at him as she dried the dishes, looking like she was trying to figure out what to say. It was weird to see her so speechless. She was quick witted and always had something smart to say. 

In that way she was like Alex.

Yeah, he had a type. 

“There’s some coffee left,” Maria said. “Care to have some?” She held up the bag and shook it.  
  
“I thought some of that was for Izzy?”  
  
“Yeah, fuck her. I can make coffee martinis?” Maria tempted. Not that he needed much tempting.  
  
“Ok,” he chuckled. “Are you going to share your secret recipe with me finally?”  
  
“Nope. Need to make sure you keep coming back.”  
  
 _I don’t need a reason to come back_. “You know I could just google it.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You could. But it wouldn’t be _my_ recipe. Now go. Figure out something to watch. _Not_ a boring documentary about GMOs or something!” She warned him. 

“Just as bad as Isobel,” Michael said, too happy that she was staying to be in any way actually annoyed.

* * *

He swung by the Pony early afternoon the next day with the ice cream, practically whistling when he stepped in, and brought himself up short when he saw Alex and Maria, chatting easily. 

Oh. _Oh_. 

“Is that my ice cream?!” Maria asked, cutting something Alex was saying off in her excitement.

Michael laughed a little. “Special delivery.”

“Finally! I’ve been waiting all day for this!” She said, excitedly digging out some spoons.

Alex turned as Michael brought it over. “The mystery girlfriend makes ice cream too?” Alex asked, leaning against the bar, facing Michael. He was smirking at Michael, who was idly considering murder.  
  
“First attempt,” Michael replied, staring him down. Feeling suddenly stubborn about a lie that both Maria and Alex had figured out a long time ago. 

“Back off, Manes,” Maria said. “This is mine.”  
  
“I thought we were sharing,” Alex protested, teasingly trying to steal her spoon. 

“I did all the work,” Maria said, waving her spoon at him. 

Michael snorted. “Did you.” And he dug a spoon into the container and handed it right over to Alex. Okay, he might be stubborn about the lie but he was more stubborn about making sure they both got to enjoy the ice cream, which was honestly positively sinful. Maria had done good with this recipe. And if Alex didn’t like it, he might just have to disown him.

Maria protested lightly, and Michael ignored it, grinning at her.   
  
The ice cream finally got a real honest to God reaction out of Alex. A low hum of pleasure, his eyes closing briefly and a small smile gracing his handsome features as he pulled the spoon from his mouth. “Wow, that’s dangerous,” he said and went in for more. Michael felt a flush of pleasure. “And I don’t mean in that I’m probably going to need to take a cab home, though I probably will. This is delicious.

“To be fair, it’s not _that_ boozy,” Michael said lightly, leaning over the bar to snag a bottle of bourbon, to go with it. “This should pair well. If you’re sold on taking that cab.” 

“Are you paying for that, Guerin?” Maria smacked at him with her spoon lightly. 

He winked at her, grabbing a couple glasses while he was at it.   
  
“Good thing tomorrow’s Sunday,” Alex said, sitting down and trying to discreetly bring the container of ice cream closer. Maria smacked him with the spoon too, which turned into a full on spoon sparring match between the two of them. 

“I should have known the two of you would start battling for dominance here.” It was supposed to come out blandly but he’s pretty sure his grin was ruining that.  
  
“Well if Alex would stop being greedy,” Maria said.  
  
“I’m just catching up with your bear sized bites!” Alex retorted, dodging her swinging spoon for another bite.  
  
“Oh my God, you two. There’s enough ice cream for everyone.” He wished that they weren’t still talking about ice cream.

One of the servers was setting out complimentary peanuts and Alex paused in the battle for the tub to grab a little bowl. “Yessss perfect.”  
  
“You are so weird,” Michael groaned watching Alex put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth followed by a handful of salted peanuts. Maria looked just as bewildered and slightly disturbed as Michael so at least he wasn’t alone. 

“Sweet and salty,” Alex defended, chuckling. 

Michael really wanted nothing more than to kiss the traces of ice cream and salt off of Alex’s mouth, or lean against the bar and lick the chocolate off Maria’s lips. Instead, he took advantage of the armistice to get another bite of the ice cream for himself, smiling past the ache in his chest, sharp as brainfreeze and way more worth it.

Honestly, even if he wasn’t _with_ either of them. If they could just keep doing this, stay right in this, he could be happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe inspo: 
> 
> https://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/coffee_bourbon_chocolate_chip_ice_cream/


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria has a business proposition for Michael, Michael gains an assistant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it is by no means necessary, we do encourage you to read [Chapter 5 of Petit fours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393293/chapters/65011882) before this one, as it lends a little context!

“By the way.” Maria had started while the three of them were gluttonously finishing off the rest of the ice cream -- the Pony didn’t have a freezer, which was an awfully convenient excuse. “I’ve been working with Isobel a bit on drumming up some new business.”

Michael had practically choked on the ice cream. There was a dangerous team. “Hn?” 

“Thanks to her, I have a bridal shower brunch happening this Sunday. And I was thinking that cinnamon rolls might go well.” She fluttered her eyelashes and fuck if Michael wasn’t done for.

Alex snorted, _loudly_ , next to Michael. “And how much are you paying him?” 

“Hm?” Maria tried to play innocent. Only, all of them knew that she was the best hustler in the room, so none of them were buying it. 

“Are you paying by the roll or by the hour? What if he needs help? Are you gonna pay his assistant too? Details, Maria.” 

“Assistant?” Maria was looking at Alex with no small amount of amusement. 

“Well if you’re asking for a hundred cinnamon rolls, he might want to have some help so he gets some sleep at some point in his life.” Alex shrugged.

She laughed, shaking her head a little. “Alex Manes, are you his agent now?” 

“So what if I am?” 

“Hey, hey!” Michael broke in, trying to stop laughing so hard. “I don’t think agents are typical for bakers, let alone amateurs.”

“They are when this shark is eyeing them,” Alex said, angling his head towards Maria. 

“Excuse you?” Maria swatted at Alex with a bar rag. “There are no sharks in the desert.” 

“The great and fearsome landshark. Very rare. Very dangerous. Very stingy.” Alex grinned. “Fifty bucks an hour, plus materials and ingredients.” 

“Highway robbery,” she protested. “That’s five times the going rate for a baker and he already has all the materials he needs, I have _seen_ Isobel Evans’ kitchen.”

Alex got a gleam in his eye. “You’re paying for the final product not the labor, Maria, he’s not an employee. Forty, still plus ingredients.” 

“I am not paying for rise time!” She shook her head. “I learned my lessons with the ice cream -- let’s do this by batch, shall we?” 

And the haggling started in earnest.

Michael watched them, knowing that he should probably protest soon. He didn’t mind helping Maria out for free at all. But they were riveting. It was like watching the fiercest tennis match. She’d serve with a quip. He returned the volley with a sharp retort. And look at the back hand on that witty repertoire. The crowd goes wild. 

“Really--” Michael finally tried but Alex shushed him, verbally, but he also _covered Michael’s mouth with his hand._ Michael was stunned into silence, his brain zeroing in on the warmth of Alex’s palm against his lips, the scent of chocolate and salty peanuts on his fingers…

“And if he needs an assistant,” Maria started, practically smirking. “It can be you.” 

The surprise of her comment made Alex pull his hand away and Michael felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages. He downed the rest of his bourbon because seriously he could _not_ handle this kind of shit. 

“Oh, and what are you paying _me_?” Alex asked laughing. And if Michael were in a clearer state of mind, he would swear it sounded a little forced.

Maria winked. “You know.” 

Wait. _What?_ Michael was very obviously missing something.   
  
Maria and Alex were staring at each other, like they were having a telepathic conversation. Maria was still smirking and Alex was absolutely inscrutable. At least to Michael. But wasn’t that always the case? He didn’t get to spiral into those thoughts long before Alex was looking at him again, speaking, “Michael, do you need an extra pair of hands?”

“...I mean. It couldn’t hurt?” He said, a little weakly. He didn’t know how, but he was pretty sure he’d just been expertly maneuvered into a trap. 

He poured himself more bourbon which got him a raised eyebrow from Maria, which he ignored. 

“But I mean I don--”  
  
“Then it’s settled,” Maria cut him off. “Thirty five bucks per batch and Alex helps but gets not one red cent.”  
  
“He should be getting paid more for having to deal with me in a kitchen,” Alex laughed. “I think we need to renegotiate.”  
  
“Absolutely not. All sales are final."

“Sales,” Michael snorted. “I’m not a horse.” 

“Let’s drink on the deal?” Maria suggested, pouring another round for all of them. 

“I’m not paying for that,” Michael said, quickly, to laughter from both of them. 

“We’ll call it part of your fee.” Maria winked and raised her glass. “Cinnamon rolls for a party of 50, due on Sunday at 9:30am.”

“Okay,” Michael laughed, taking a drink. 

“So when do you need me? I’m assuming you’ve moved your whole operation to Isobel’s place…” 

Michael flushed. God, his life really was an open book now, wasn’t it? “Yeah. Saturday night? We can do afternoon if you have… plans.” If you have a date, his mind filled in. 

“No plans.” Alex shook his head. “Meet you at Isobel’s at six?” 

“Sounds good.” Michael nodded, and took another quick drink to keep the stupid soppy smile off his face that he could feel bubbling up.

* * *

“So Alex is coming when?” Izzy asked, working her hair up into a ponytail, while he moved around the kitchen, getting it ready for the massive amount of baking he was going to have to do. 

“Later.” 

“Later _when_ though?” She asked, grinning. “‘Cause I don’t have to leave yet.” 

“Nuh-uh.” He said, firmly. “You don’t want to keep Max waiting. You two haven’t hung out in days.”

“But--” She started and cut herself off as she started literally sliding along the floor towards the door, and her purse was floating up to her hands. “Michael, using your powers is cheating!” She was laughing though. “You’re going to scratch up my floors!” 

“Bye.” He waved. “Have fun!” 

“You jer… oh wait!" She said, laughing. “Wait, wait, I bought you something.” 

He stopped, frowning. “What?” Oh god, he did not need presents. Unless she got him that set of piping bags…?

She was picking up an Amazon envelope that was by the door, opening it. “Close your eyes.”

“Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head, but Izzy was one step ahead of him, telekinetically dropping a kitchen towel over his eyes. “Ugh, you’re a _menace,_ ” he said, reaching up to pull it off… and she was pressing a hat or something down on his head.

“There. Now it’s official.” She was beaming at him, grabbing for her phone. 

“Wh… stop that,” he growled, pulling it off and looking at it -- one of those puffy white chef’s hats. “You’re the worst.” 

“Nooo, I need a picture!” She protested. 

“Byeeeee,” he said, and physically shooed her towards the door, this time.

Alex showed up about ten minutes later, promptly at six. Michael had gotten Izzy out just in time. Any later and they would have crossed paths. No bueno.  
  
“Brought beer,” Alex said, hefting up two six packs as he walked into Isobel’s place.  
  
“Cause you’re nervous?” Michael teased. Alex had been very clear at the bar about his inexperience in the kitchen. According to him, he was good at boiling rice and pasta, and a master of the George Foreman grill and that was it.  
  
“No,” Alex snorted. “I made Maria promise that you’d get paid regardless of what I did to those buns.” 

Michael tried not to choke on his own spit and opened a beer. But while he had been busy pulling his head out of the gutter, he hadn’t realized that he’d left Izzy’s present on the kitchen counter. And that Alex had seen it. Michael watched in horror as the glee bloomed across Alex’s face in slow motion, his hands snatching up the hat before Michael could do anything about it.  
  
“Do you bake in this?” Alex asked, holding up the hat. Knowing the answer was no but clearly hoping it was a yes.  
  
“No!” He tried to snatch the hat but Alex kept it out of reach. “That’s Isobel’s idea of a bad joke.” 

“On the contrary,” Alex began. “You like hats. Bakers wear hats. Ergo, you needed a hat.” Playfully, he shook the hat a little but when Michael tried to snatch it again Alex stepped away, holding it close to his chest protectively.  
  
 _Great._  
  
“I like _one_ hat," he protested, giving up. “Come on, you’re here to bake, not to do Izzy’s dirty work.” 

Alex was looking at him distrustfully, like if doing what they planned to do was some kind of nefarious plot to steal and burn that hat (which, to be fair, were things Michael would absolutely do, given half a chance). Instead of repeating himself, Michael stared at Alex expectantly, who then proceeded, after a brief standoff worthy of a couple of gunslingers, to put the fucking hat on his _own_ head.

Smugly, Alex adjusted the little mushroom top so it slumped a bit to the side, and that was the fucking cutest shit. Michael wanted to be angry with the conniving little shit because he knew- _knew_ \--that Michael would be completely weak at the sight of Alex in a chef’s hat. Knew that Michael could never take the hat now, because then he wouldn’t be able to look at this adorableness.  
  
Alex was somehow still adorable despite that triumphant smirk on his face. Despite? _Despite?!_ Nope the smugness just made Alex _more_ adorable.  
  
Michael repressed the urge to scream. 

“Dirty pool, Alex Manes.” 

“You’d know. What’s our first step?” He asked, handing Michael an apron. God, he was an insufferably smug shit. Michael sighed, and pulled it on. 

“I’m switching up the recipe,” he said, picking up the new one -- a little more complicated than the last one, a little more of a crowd-pleasing presentation. Cinnamon roll _wreaths_ , and he was going to make a couple chocolate ones, maybe even a spicy one, just to practice a little. “You want to measure out the dry ingredients? We’ll take it one batch at a time, and make five batches.” 

“On it.” Alex nodded, and Michael could have sworn he very nearly fucking saluted. 

Just. _Wrong_. He shook his head and turned to the stove to warm up the milk and butter, stealing little glances at Alex. He wasn’t trying to be a creeper or anything, it was just that Alex looked content, intent on his job. Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his walls down quite in this way. 

It was a good look on him.

Michael shook his head, focusing on the melting butter and milk, stirring it slowly, just to make sure he didn’t do something stupid like burn it. Grabbing the thermometer, he made sure it was at the right temperature, before going to pour it in the bowl of the kitchenaid. “All right...” Grabbing the eggs, dumping them in before having Alex pass him the dry ingredients and turning the mixer on. 

“What got you into baking?” Alex asked, which caused Michael to flush.  
  
“Was kind of bored one night…” Michael said, shrugged. Trying to seem nonchalant about it. “Ended up watching some cooking shows and got curious. It’s fun. Puts me in the same problem solving headspace as fixing an engine or building something.”

Alex nodded. “I guess it doesn’t hurt that you can eat the finished product.” 

“Definitely not.” Michael smiled a bit. “Sanders probably put on twenty pounds before he made me start giving my bakes to other people.”

“Do you ever consider doing this?” 

Michael blinked at him, shutting off the kitchenaid, so he could pull the dough out to knead, nudging Alex to measure out the next batch. “I mean, I am doing it?” 

“No, I mean, as an actual job. I know you like working in the junkyard, but…” 

Michael considered the question. Really considered it, for the first time. “Honestly, I never really did. I’m not exactly a professional.” 

Alex chuckled. “I’m not sure what your definition of professional is, but mine includes getting paid for your services.” 

“I…” He flushed, clearing his throat a little. “I don’t really consider what I’m doing a service. It’s just fun.” And there was, at least that night, the added bonus of hanging out with Alex. Michael bit back that observation, focusing on kneading the dough.  
  
“And?” Alex asked.  
  
“And?”  
  
“There was an unspoken and.”  
  
Of course he hears it and of course he can’t leave it alone. That was Alex for you. Still Michael can’t help but needle. “It was left unspoken for a reason.”  
  
“Oh…” Alex glanced away, measuring out more ingredients. Michael could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“Do you mind adding a bit more flour here for me?” Michael nodded down at the dough in his hands.  
  
“Oh yeah sure.” Alex sprinkled as much as Michael directed. He was so close, still wearing that stupid chef’s hat. Michael could smell his cologne. 

_Keep it together, Guerin_ , he reminded himself sternly as he kept working the dough. At least kneading was fast becoming one of his favorite methods of stress relief. 

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said, after a couple minutes. “Hanging out.”

Alex hesitated, and Michael tried not to read into it. “Me too.” 

“How are things going with Forrest?” 

Alex frowned at him a little, and Michael shook his head. “I mean it. I’m glad you’re happy. I mean. I hope you’re happy. Things are… okay?” 

“Yeah,” Alex said, slowly. “They’re fine,” he added, noncommittal, as if he were worried Michael would shatter like spun glass if he actually showed excitement or happiness over Forrest. 

Michael looked over at him and elbowed him, since his hands were all sticky. “Come on. They’re _fine_ ?” Alex looked a little surprised by the elbowing, Michael continued, “Is he like just all World War Two anecdotes? Romantic dinners ruined by stories of Winston Churchill or the model of fighter jet engines?”  
  
“I think that last one’s more you,” Alex said dryly, but he was smiling.  
  
“Hey now, I don’t give a shit about vintage fighter jet engines!” He protested, laughing, as he put the dough into a greased bowl and moved onto the next batch. “Vintage _cars_ , maybe.” 

Alex chuckled. “Mn. Fair.” He paused, and Michael looked back at him as he was cleaning out the stand mixer, without being asked. “It’s been nice. Going on real dates. I never really got to do that. I mean, there was us, and then basic and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, and then… I don’t know. I just never really went on dates, with anyone. It’s a new world.” 

“Yeah.” Michael nodded. He kind of got it. Sure he’d taken out almost every cute girl in Roswell, but he didn’t _really_ date until he went out with Maria. Since Alex is sharing, Michael shared that too. “It’s a nice new world. Things feel less… high stakes, I guess?”  
  
Alex smiled. “Yeah.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad. It’s nice to see you happy, Alex.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, relaxing finally. “You know, this year’s been a doozy--”  
  
“That’s putting it mildly. I’d say more of a clusterfuck. Or medieval torture session?”

“A test of one’s resolve?”  
  
“Only you would see it that way, Alex,” Michael said dryly.  
  
“I don’t.” Alex chuckled, and went to run a hand through his hair before remembering the hat. But he doesn’t take it off, shooting Michael a wary look, just adjusting it. Michael shook his head, ridiculously fond, and started to shape the dough into a ball, before putting it in a bowl.  
  
Alex took the bowl, without being asked, to cover it in saran wrap while Michael moved on to blend up the next dough ball with the Kitchenaid. Michael had to admit, he liked having an assistant. Well, when the assistants were Maria and Alex (even if it was weird when they’d go all ‘yes sir’ at his directions). They worked well together. Fell into an easy sort of flow that Michael had never really experienced before. 

Alex continued, “It was a nightmare. At times. A lot of the time. But also--”

“So much was happening that shit got resolved that wouldn’t have otherwise,” Michael offered.

Alex nodded. “You’ve always had a way with words, Guerin.” He looked at Michael, with a little smile. 

Michael laughed, ducked his head a little. “Three more batches to go.” 

“I’ll knead the next one?” Alex offered, and Michael nodded. The two of them falling into a good rhythm -- that is until Michael got _utterly_ distracted watching Alex knead dough with his stupid beautiful hands. He knew exactly what those hands could do and… and..

Nope. He stopped himself, clearing his throat a little and turning back to his work, hoping that Alex didn’t see the flush on his cheeks. 

He’d beat himself up for leering at his ex- _something_ , but honestly, Alex was still gorgeous and he wasn’t blind. There wasn’t any harm in just looking, he reminded himself. Just don’t be weird about it. 

They kept working, making small talk about tv and restaurants and stupid stuff about the town, and it was so nice, so relaxing. It was almost a let down when they got the dough all mixed, five covered bowls all lined up on the counter, and the kitchen cleaned up, dishwasher humming along. 

“So...” Alex started, looking at him, thoughtfully. “Why don’t you show me this baking show of yours?” 

Michael snorted a bit. “Yeah. Sure.” Washing off his hands, and heading for the couch. “Grab the beer!” 

He settled on the couch, pulling up Netflix to pull up one of his favorite seasons -- definitely not Rahul though. He wasn’t about to get misty again. “Hey, you want Thai food?” He called out to Alex. 

“Prasong’s place?” 

“Is there other Thai in town that I’m not aware of?” 

Alex laughed. “Yeah, that sounds good. Green--”

“Curry, spicy,” Michael finished, waving his hand a bit. “I know.” 

“Oh do you.” Alex was laughing as he handed the beer over. “Dare I ask why? Were you hiding in the bushes? Wearing a fake mustache and glasses in the corner booth?” 

“I asked Prasong.” Michael waved his hand, dialing the number and placing a delivery order. Technically they didn’t deliver, but Prasong made exclusions for Isobel, sometimes -- he said it was because she threw catering business his way, but Michael suspected that Prasong secretly had a crush. Given his restaurant theme, Michael could guess why -- and desperately did not want to think about it.

“Surprisingly straight forward spy move,” Alex teased him gently, and Michael groaned and hit him with one of Izzy’s bright throw pillows, careful not to jostle the beer. 

Half an hour later, they were both in possession of food and happily eating while watching everyone stress their way through a walnut cake. 

“I’ve never been so simultaneously soothed and stressed out by a show,” Alex said, at one point. 

Michael chuckled. “Right?” He set aside his empty container before slumping a bit on the couch, socked feet propped up on Isobel’s coffee table. He could only do that when she wasn’t around. 

Alex winced as one of the bakers’ cakes snapped in half. “You’d have a pretty big advantage with your powers, wouldn’t you?” 

“Hm?” Michael looked over at him, curiously. 

“Well, like, that would never happen to you. And you’d be able to pull these candied walnut things apart without worrying about them sticking to everything.”

Michael laughed. “I don’t use my powers for everything you know.” 

“You totally should.”

Michael made a face. “I’m not an expert, but I think that’s how you get caught, Alex.” 

Alex shook his head, gesturing with his fork a bit. “No, ‘cause I know you’re good. So you use magician principles. Misdirect. Hold the cake but also support it with your TK. Use the skewers to do this sugar work but then just pull the walnuts off them. Then everyone’s just impressed at how easy things seem for you.” 

Michael blinked at him. “But it’s not _easy_.” 

Alex shrugged. “I mean, nothing ever really is. For anyone, right? Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use every advantage at your disposal. I guarantee you everyone else is, too.” 

“I guess not?” Michael hummed just a bit under his breath. “I mean it’s a moot point. I don’t think I’d ever want to do a competition like this.” 

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, nodding. 

“So,” Michael began, conversationally. “Are you gonna take that hat off anytime tonight?” 

Alex laughed. “Nice try. The only way this hat is coming off is if you’re wearing it.” 

Michael laughed too. “Hey. What’s that?” Pointing, and as Alex turned, he took a picture with his phone, which was floating off on Alex’s right. 

“Oh you _dick_.” Alex lunged for it but Michael pulled it easily away from him and caught it out of the air. 

“Every advantage, Manes.” Michael was laughing, looking at the picture. Alex took the moment to settle the hat on his head and grab a quick picture before Michael could do much but sputter. 

“Turnabout is fair play, Guerin.” 

“If you share that with _anyone.._.” Michael yanked the hat off and tossed it aside as he threatened Alex, because otherwise his threats would be absolutely undercut.

“Mutually assured destruction.” Alex smirked, waving his phone. 

Michael rolled his eyes. _There should be a word for wanting to kill someone and loving them a whole hell of a lot at the same time_ , he thinks.

Instead of fighting over it, he got up. “All right. Come on, it’s time to assemble the rolls,” he said, heading back toward the kitchen.

Alex chuckled, getting off the couch, following Michael and letting the episode keep going. While Michael was getting the butter, he felt the hat settle back on his head.  
  
“Are you serious?” Michael asked exasperated.  
  
“I wore it for like an hour, it’s your turn.”  
  
“That was entirely of your own volition!” 

“Still your turn.” Alex was grinning at him, his hair sticking up because of the hat. Michael couldn’t help noticing that his tone was soft, maybe a little hopeful that Michael would comply. 

Sighing in defeat, Michael tossed Alex a few sticks of butter. “Melt those?” He asked, catching just a glimpse of Alex’s winning smile, as Michael went to get the rest of the ingredients for the filling out. 

A couple moments later, he was aware of Alex peeking over his shoulder. “Cinnamon, sugar… are those chocolate chips? And chili powder?” 

“I am experimenting.” He grinned, glancing back at Alex, who met his eyes with playful curiosity. “Two traditional, two chocolate, one mexican hot chocolate.” 

Alex grinned. “And you expect me to let that last one walk off and into Maria’s stupid bachelorette party?”

“Bridal shower,” Michael corrected just to see Alex roll his eyes. “There’ll be a bunch of leavings anyway when I trim the edges to clean the rolls up, we can bake those if that makes you feel better.” Smiling, and holding up a rolling pin. “You know how to do this bit?” 

“I think I can figure it out.” Alex chuckled. “Let me watch you first though?” 

“Yeah.” Michael nodded, flouring the countertop and showing Alex how to roll it out to the right size, shape, and thickness. He let Alex take over while he stirred up the fillings and started buttering the dough behind Alex and spreading out the fillings. 

“I gotta say there’s something kind of cathartic about working with dough,” Alex said after the fifth dough ball was flattened. Copying Michael, he covered it with butter and started to add the fillings.  
  
“I know right?” Michael grinned. “I’ve started baking bread too just so I can have something to pound.” 

Alex snorted, and Michael could swear he might be just a little flushed. “Oh yeah?” 

Michael chuckled. “In all seriousness, it’s great stress relief. I do breads whenever I’m feeling like punching people, now,” he said, finishing with the fillings and starting to roll the dough up with his TK while he grabbed a knife.

“Less likely to get arrested that way,” Alex said. “Really is a new you.” 

Michael groaned, rolling his eyes. “You can’t drink in jail. You can while you’re baking,” he joked. Ignoring the fact that while his bar tab had probably halved since he took all this up, his amazon bill more than made up for it.

“Very logical,” Alex chuckled, watching Michael fold the dough into logs. Alex carefully transferred each piece to the awaiting parchment paper.  
  
“For what it’s worth,” Alex began while Michael worked. “You seem happy too.” 

Michael paused what he was doing, blinking in surprise at the observation. Surprised that Alex made it? Surprised that it was kinda true? Michael wasn’t exactly sure. “Kinda.” He said anyway and went back to carefully shaping the logs into circles, liberally using his power to help turn the rolls just right. 

Alex arched an eyebrow at him. Michael didn’t need to be looking at him to know that’s what was happening.  
  
“I think I’m a little more content, I guess,” Michael tried. Talking about himself, his feelings, was hard, but doing it while working on the rolls helped keep him calm, somehow.

“Baking making you work on shit you wouldn’t have worked on otherwise?” Alex said, echoing Michael’s earlier statement.  
  
Michael chuckled. “Yeah, maybe.” He looked at Alex, who likely wouldn’t be here if not for the baking. Thought of Maria, who had been standing in this very kitchen with him barely a week ago. People he thought he’d lost. “Opened up... possibilities?” It was hard to formulate these thoughts into words without saying something embarrassing. Or worse, seeming like he was too much.

But Alex just nodded, as if he understood Michael’s mess of thoughts. “Baking’s fun,” he said, covering up the finished rolls with towels so they could rise. “And,” he hesitated for just a beat, looking over at Michael. “It’s fun to hang out.”

What was he even supposed to say to that? 

Alex was glancing over the recipe again. “Ugh we have to wait another 45 minutes before we can put the damn things in the oven?” Alex groaned causing Michael to laugh.  
  
“This is why it’s fun to drink and bake.” Michael grinned.  
  
“Yeah, wanna watch more Bake Off?”  
  
“Yeah.” Michael smiled, heart so, so full. “Getting hooked already?”

“I just need to know how Flora does!” Alex protested, laughing. 

“Seriously?” Michael laughed. “I could have sworn you’d be an Ian guy…” 

“Oh shut up and put the show back on, Guerin,” Alex said, laughing and popping another beer open, handing it over to Michael. Michael didn’t bother correcting Alex that the show was already on. Instead he just went to restart the episode and sit down on the couch next to Alex to enjoy it.

Simple pleasures. Maybe he really was changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baking inspo:
> 
> https://www.girlversusdough.com/chocolate-cinnamon-roll-wreath/  
> https://www.pepperscale.com/spicy-cinnamon-rolls/ (note, this isn't really a recipe he uses, I just posted it to ladynox screaming SPICY CINNAMON ROLLS?!!!!!! and she agreed)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel is dangerously close to getting incriminating photos and Michael is just trying to get some work done.

Michael was finishing up glazing a donut when his phone buzzed. He wiped his hand on a towel and grabbed his phone. It was a text from Alex:  
  
 _Those fail!cakes were made after practicing?_  
  
Michael smiled. After the cinnamon roll night, Alex had started watching The Great British Bake-Off and had taken to texting Michael his reactions. Most of them were rather snarky, because, well, Alex. Michael had never been much of a texter but these back and forths with Alex were really nice, like…. not that they were past their drama, per se, but they were better. More normal… maybe. 

_OMG, Alex, good vibes only!_ Michael sent back but before he could get back to his donuts, he got another text. 

_It’s a competition, Michael! They don’t even know what a jaffa cake is._

_Neither do you._ _  
__  
__I’m not on this show!_

After that, his phone went silent so Michael went back to working on his donuts. One was a chocolate glazed donut with cherry drizzle, the other was french vanilla glazed. They were for Maria, who was doing some kind of booze and donut tasting event. He was getting paid for this order as well since Maria didn’t want to be harassed by his agent -- her words not his.  
  
 _These people._ _You must be like some kind of baking savant,_ was the next text he got from Alex. Michael didn’t respond immediately and he was glad that no one was around to see because he was definitely blushing. 

_...as much as I love being called a genius, you have no idea how many fails I've had._

_Pff._

Michael didn’t bother responding to that. 

The room was… suspiciously quiet. Michael couldn’t say how or when the silence of Izzy’s kitchen turned ominous, but it did, and he straightened from where he was working, frowning. And his head hit something _soft_ , floating above his head. “What the…” He looked up, blinking at the chef’s hat, floating above him. 

“Say cheese!” Izzy was suddenly there, with her phone, and he yelped and ducked out of the way. 

Of _course_ the violence of his ducking sent his cherry drizzle flying. Michael let out a heavy breath, and glared at Izzy, whose eyes were wide, surprised, clearly about to lose it laughing. “Uh….” 

“Out!” He said, standing up, grabbing the hat out of the air and waving it at her. “You’re a menace!” 

She, thankfully, complied… of course her laughter didn’t put him into any better of a mood. He sighed, looking around at the splattered red cherry drizzle. It looked alarmingly like blood. He grabbed his phone out and took a picture, sending it to Alex. 

_Fail #157_

He slipped his phone away. Would serve Izzy right if he didn’t clean up first and he tracked the glaze all over her kitchen for her to clean up, right? Right?

He groaned, setting the stuff aside, grabbing a towel and going to clean up. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed again.

_Holy shit did you finally snap and try to murder Izzy?_

_If I answer you’ll be an accomplice._

_It’s okay, I know you couldn’t take her._

Michael scoffed. Tossing his phone away, grinning, and starting to remake the drizzle.

_For real though, Michael, do you actually keep track of your fails? Is that number accurate?_

Alex’s faith in his baking skills was really making him blush. He glanced around the kitchen suspiciously, making sure Isobel wasn’t around to see his face or attack him with that fucking hat. 

He cursed softly as he saw the time. Shit, Maria was gonna kill him if he didn’t get these done in time. 

Texting forgotten for now, he concentrated on getting the drizzle remade and the donuts finished. And if he was late, he’d make sure Maria knew who to murder.

* * *

“I was getting worried, Guerin,” Maria called out when he stepped in, with a somewhat precarious armful of boxes, waving him over. “Just in time.” 

He raised an eyebrow at the signs hung up at the bar, touting an ‘artisan donut and signature drink pairing - $15’. 

“People pay that?” He asked, gently setting the boxes down on the bar. 

“Hipsters, what can I say?” She shrugged and grinned at him. 

“Jesus, you're gonna start catering to hipsters now?” Michael screwed up his face. “I’m gonna need a new bar.” 

“We’ve already talked about this, Guerin. You barely come by anymore,” Maria chuckled, walking over to the register. She popped it open and started to pull out Michael’s pay. “Gotta make up for the lost income from you somehow!” She extended a rolled up wad of bills.

It was still very weird to take money for his bakes but he knew better than to argue. Taking it and shoving it into a pocket. “Well, if you miss me that much, maybe I should stay for a drink?”

She looked at him with a soft smile and nodded. “Have you tried these yet?” Gesturing at the donuts. 

He shook his head. “Nah. I had too much work to do, cleaning up after a bit of a disaster.” 

“Oh, well then.” She smiles. “Should we start with vanilla or cherry?” 

Michael laughed. “Let’s go with vanilla. Do I get to try one of these pairings?” 

“You should be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Besides, if we’re gonna make this a regular venture, you should be involved in the creative process, right?” 

“All right. Let’s give this a shot.” 

Maria looked excited, turning to go get a couple of beers that looked a little suspiciously bright, then plated up a donut, cutting it in half. 

Michael picked up the donut, cheersing her with it, taking a little bite. It was sugary warm-vanilla heaven, if he did say so himself. 

Maria tried hers too, and he could have sworn that she moaned, just a little. He flushed. “Good?”

“Perfect.” She sighed happily. “Okay, try the beer now,” she said, lifting her own to him before taking a sip.

He tried his beer, a little cautiously. It was… definitely not anything he was used to. Almost sweet and rather sour and a hell of a lot more _complex_ than the simple cheap beer he was used to. And somehow it went perfectly with the donut. 

“Damn,” he murmured. Maria smiled, proud of his reaction.  
  
“Sour ale was a good choice then?”  
  
“I think so!” 

She beamed. “Okay, you should try the cherry too. I’m pairing it with a stout…” she said, turning to pour some more, before Michael could protest.

_Maria’s parings are a bit conservative, in my opinion._

Michael blinked at his phone. Alex. He shifted in his stool, sweeping his eyes over the rest of the bar. He hadn’t noticed them when he came in, but Alex was there, with Forest, sitting over by one of the windows.

Michael just watched him for a moment. Alex’s hands as he raised the beer to his mouth, the smooth plane of his throat as he drank... Michael shook his head a little, looking at Forrest, trying not to obviously oogle Alex in front of him. Neither of them seemed to notice him, though. They looked kind of serious, talking in low voices. Michael tried not to speculate about what -- stupid to get jealous over Alex finally letting someone in, right? At least they were in a good place, now. He needed to focus on that.

 _You only say that because you have the tastebuds of a 12 year old,_ Michael texted back, quickly, smiling. He didn’t want to interrupt the date too much, though, so he put his phone on silent and shoved it in his pocket.

“Here.” Maria was plopping the stout down in front of him and cutting up a cherry donut. 

Again, the beer was a hell of a lot more complicated than he normally would have chosen. Maria had never made fun of his basic taste, but right now he was feeling pretty beer-stupid. He never really thought that a beer could taste like coffee and chocolate and a little bit like milk.

“Oh… I like how the chocolate in that tastes with the cherry,” Michael said, slowly, taking another bite and drink. Okay, hipsters aside, this was fun, and it was giving him ideas. 

“Yeah!” Maria said, grinning. “Ever since you told me what you were going to bake, I’ve been thinking about the pairings. It’s been fun.” Maria leaned over the bar. “Did you pick these flavors on purpose though? To make it easy on me?”  
  
“No!” Michael protested. “To make it easy on me! I had to make a lot of donuts!” 

Maria chuckled. “Well. _I_ think next time we should pick a couple beers and choose flavors that way?” She suggested. “I’ll do the whole stupid fancy flight thing and we can talk about them?” 

As if Michael could say no to that. Grinning. “You tell me when.” 

God. If he was going to keep this up, he was going to have to find even more kitchen space. Even Izzy’s expansive marble countertops were getting a little cramped. 

“Come over this Sunday?” Maria asked. “We can have some beers? Do some planning?” 

“Yeah.” He couldn’t help but grin, widely. “Afternoon, after I finish up at Sanders’? Like three?” 

“Just text me when you’re done,” she agreed, raising her glass. “Now finish your beers, these are too pricey to go down the drain.” 

He laughed. “God forbid.” 

* * *

_Stressed out bakers stare at their ovens,_ Alex sent him late one night.

 _What?_ Michael texted back sleepy and confused. He’d almost been asleep.

_That’s what this show should be called._

Michael snorted. _You're ridiculous._

_Or self-impressed bakers do a little dance. Please tell me you do those stupid little dances._

Michael groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face. It was way too fucking late for Alex to be teasing him like this. _Good night, Alex._ _  
__  
__Good night, Guerin._

* * *

It had been a while since he’d baked at the junkyard for any time longer than necessary to keep up with his work for Sanders. It was weird, but firing up his old improvised oven was almost nostalgic. And he could almost pretend that was the only reason he was here, instead of avoiding Isobel’s ridiculous need to get a picture of him in a ridiculous hat. 

He let it warm up while he got a few cars squared away and mixed up the cake he was practicing. Sanders came out somewhere in the middle of it, taking cash from a customer, then leaning against a car to watch him.

“This is a rare sight,” Sanders said dryly, as Michael pulled out a cake pan from the oven. “What happened? You burn down your fussy sister’s kitchen?”  
  
“This is where I live, remember?” Michael snorted. “I don’t have to do everything at Isobel’s.”  
  
“How bad was the fire, kid?” He was smirking, Michael didn’t have to look at Sanders to know that.  
  
“There was no damn fire!” Michael huffed. “If you must know--”

“I must,” Sanders interrupted dryly, though he seemed more interested in knowing the flavor of the frosting sitting on the makeshift table. 

“I’m avoiding her…” Michael started and then frowned, “You better not stick your _dirty_ fingers in my frosting!” He got a squinty eyed glare for his troubles but at least Sanders used a spoon to taste the frosting.

“Eguh! Why the fuck is this spicy!?” Sanders demanded, with a look of betrayal at the bowl. It made Michael laugh. Sanders glared at Michael now.  
  
“That’s what you get for sticking your fingers where they don’t belong,” Michael said, vindictively. How many times had Sanders said that to Michael when he was a kid nosing around the junkyard, pestering Sanders with endless questions, wanting to know what Sanders was doing and how he was doing it. 

“The hell is it?”  
  
“Chili cream cheese frosting.”  
  
“Ugh why? This is some weird millennial thing, isn’t it? Like avocado toast and feelings.”  
  
“Stop complaining,” Michael said, handing Sanders his bottle of water and not bothering to address the millennial comment. Last thing he wanted to sit through was a rant about entitled youngsters and how back in his day yada yada… Michael didn’t even know, his ears would automatically turn off at the utterance of those words. 

“Just be happy I used mild chilis,” Michael added. Maria, Greg and Prasong had all confirmed that when Alex wanted spicy food, he meant nuclear, which made trying to bake a spicy dessert hard. Michael could handle some heat but he wasn’t about to sear off his taste buds, testing desserts made with peppers that were over 150 thousand on the scoville scale. And as Sanders had just shown, most people he knew did not share Alex’s masochistic relationship with spicy food. So there wasn’t really anyone else to critique his attempts. 

“Y’call that mild?” Sanders was still coughing. “Gonna give me a heart attack.”   
  
Michael shrugged a bit, laughing. “No accounting for taste, I guess.” He chuckled. “Alex likes spicier than this.” 

“Oh so this is for that guy.” Sanders snorted, and it was entirely too smugly knowing. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Shut up, old man,” he said, picking up a cookie sheet and starting to fan the cake, mostly to give his hands something to do. “Notice you’re not having as much trouble buttoning up your shirts anymore.” 

“Noticing that you are,” Sanders shot back. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Buttons are overrated anyway.” 

Sanders snorted. “Do I get any of your fancy cakes or do I not rate them anymore now that you’re baking for people you actually care about?"

Michael shook his head. “Already mixed up the batter for cupcakes for you, asshole.” 

“S’long as they ain’t spicy,” Sanders said gruffly, close as Michael was going to get to a thank you from that crotchety old coot. 

He chuckled, shaking his head and went back to work. 

* * *

Having been gone for a few days meant that the next time Michael headed over to Izzy’s, he walked into a scene -- Izzy, Maria, Liz, and Rosa all sitting around talking and laughing. 

“Michael!” Izzy spoke up, eyes sparkling. “Hey brother, I was about to send out a search party.” 

“Uh…” Eloquent as always. “Am I interrupting?” 

“Only if you’re _not_ here to make us brunch,” Rosa said, eliciting laughter from the other girls. 

“Only if he wants too,” Maria said, smiling at him. “I’ve already taken advantage of him enough for one month.” 

Michael raised an eyebrow, looking down at his bags. “I mean. I could do pancakes?” Amused. “You have lemons, right Iz?” 

“Yeah?” Izzy said, tilting her head a little. “I leave it to you, then.” Raising her glass to him.

“I’ll help,” Liz volunteered, getting up. Not exactly who he was hoping would volunteer to help. He met Maria’s eyes for a moment before Rosa caught her attention. He missed the warmth of her gaze. 

“Who says I need help?” He protested, lightly, as he headed into the kitchen. 

“I miss doing mad science with you, Mickey.”  
  
He laughed. “I mean... baking _is_ chemistry, but it’s not the same as bringing someone back from the dead.” 

“You missed the entire point of the sentiment.” 

“No, I ignored it. There’s a difference,” he countered, setting the bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter, noting the open bottle of champagne. “Huh. That’s a surprise,” Michael commented quietly, glancing over at Liz who was bringing over milk and eggs from the fridge.  
  
“You can’t just ignore your feelings awa… Oh,” Liz began, following his line of sight to the bottle and then briefly glancing at Rosa. “She insisted. Said it was an insult to her self-control otherwise.” Liz frowned. 

Michael nodded. “Yeah I guess there’s really no getting away from it, especially in this town.” 

“Yeah...” Liz sighed. She glanced at the bottle, serious for a moment. Then shook her head, smiling at Michael. “Anyway what delicious idea do you have percolating in that curly head of yours?” 

Michael pulled up a recipe on his phone -- ricotta lemon pancakes that had caught his eye a few weeks ago. He’d tried them out on Sanders, who had eaten a whole stack of them with a gruff “Not bad, kid” -- a winner of a recipe if he ever made one. He’d actually grabbed some ricotta at the store before, so it worked out fine. 

“Okay… you want to zest some lemons?” He asked, showing the recipe to her. 

“Can do.” She nudged him lightly, and went to dig in drawers. Michael laughed, getting the zester before she could go through _every_ drawer and going to measure out the ricotta and milk. Letting Liz take care of the eggs and butter. They barely had to talk, having spent enough time in the lab together that they just kind of knew how to work around each other. 

She was right. He had missed working together too. And he was starting to notice that he really enjoyed the quiet companionship that came with doing tasks with people he cared about. He had felt a similar contentedness while baking with Maria and Alex that had little to do with his romantic feelings (though they definitely didn’t hurt). 

God, he was soppy lately. Maybe Alex was right. Maybe he was just… happier now. In a place to appreciate things.

As they worked on mixing the wet ingredients togethers, Isobel, Rosa and Maria’s laughter filled the space Michael and Liz’s companionable silence left. 

“I just think,” Maria was saying. “That you should really consider doing more commissions, Rosa. The wall art you’re doing for Isobel is coming out amazing.”  
  
“Meh, full offense but this is just Isobel. No one important.” Michael and Liz glanced at each other, snickering at that fantastic zinger.  
  
“Oh fuck you,” Isobel laughed, and went in for a hug, eliciting a laugh and a string of annoyed Spanish from Rosa. All Michael could catch was _chinga_ and _pinche,_ she spoke faster than the ranch hands and migrant workers he was used to communicating with. 

“Rosa’s funny,” Michael commented to Liz who laughed.

“Yeah she’s quite a smart ass,” Liz said fondly and then, catching and holding Michael’s eyes, she began, “speaking of siblings. When are you going to make it up to your brother for that horrendous cake you made him.”

“Oh were we speaking of siblings?” He said, dryly, handing her the bowl of dry ingredients to add to the wet ones she’d been mixing up.

Liz raised her eyebrow at him.  
  
Michael rolled his eyes, turning to get Izzy’s fancy Le Cruset crepe pan down. Michael couldn’t say for sure, but he’s pretty sure the pan was new. “That cake was not horrendous. It was fucking delicious. You said so yourself.”  
  
“Yeah. It’s true. It was amazing. But that’s not the point!”

“Max can take a joke, Liz,” he said, waving his hand lightly

“You’re not making joke cakes for anyone else.” She elbowed him, gently. 

Michael shrugged, unsure of how to respond, keeping his eyes on the crepe pan as it started to heat up. 

“Maybe we can talk about it? You can help me bake him something?” She suggested, gently. 

Michael turned back to Liz intending to tell her why that was absolutely unnecessary… and burst into laughter. Liz was barefoot and without the added three to four inches from her heels, she was basically on her tiptoes and still could _barely_ reach to stir the mixture. 

“I can get you a stepstool, you know,” he said, dryly. “Or just take over.”

Liz didn’t dignify that with a response, just flipping him off. And Michael couldn’t resist… just starting to push the bowl up with his TK, little by little, off the counter, so slow that she wouldn’t notice it right away 

Of course, eventually she straightened, looked under the bowl, and shot him the death eye. “You shit.”

Michael threw back his most innocent look.  
  
“Michael,” she warned. All he did was tip it just a little, so it seemed like it would spill on her. “I will murder you!” 

Grinning, he set the bowl back down on the counter. Liz went back to mixing.

In the quiet, Michael thought about what she was saying. That he was treating Max differently than everyone else. And you know what, maybe she was right. Sure, Max and he were closer than they had been in years, but there was still a distance there. He could kid himself that he was just doing normal sibling shit all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he still kept Max at arm’s length.

His chain of thought was interrupted by Liz grumbling, “why are these damn counters so high.” 

“Because Izzy’s a giant.” He shrugged, and did grab her the stool. “I guess I wouldn’t mind hanging out. Helping” he said, as casually as he could. “Maybe make a day of it... Get dinner and beers after? The three of us?” 

The grin he got in return for that was practically blinding. Michael shook his head and went to take the bowl from her. “I got it from here.” 

Michael paused halfway from taking the bowl from her when he noticed two things. One, Liz was looking above his head. Two, the entire room had gone quiet. Suspiciously, he glanced up and saw that fucking chef’s hat…

“Isobel!”  
  
“What? Don’t you want Maria to see how cute you look?” This conniving little…  
  
Michael looked at Maria who had her hand over her mouth in a half assed attempt to stop from laughing. Her eyes were bright with mirth and it was almost enough to make him relent.  
  
Maybe if they’d been alone. 

As it was, he just snatched it out of the air, quickly, before Isobel could get the picture she’d been trying to get for the better part of a week, shaking the hat at her. “I’m gonna burn this damned thing.” Exasperated, trying not to laugh too. 

“You think that’s the only one I have, Michael?” Isobel looked offended, like he thought she was stupid. 

“Quick!” Rosa was fake-whispering to Maria. “Go distract him with your mouth.” 

Michael’s back went ramrod straight when Maria just calmly got off the couch. Rosa was definitely cheering. But Michael couldn’t hear it, wasn’t even sure anymore about what Isobel or Liz were doing. His focus was entirely on Maria, who was now standing in front of him with a sly smile on her face. 

This was probably not the best thing to happen right now, thought the dumbass part of his brain.  
  
And then Maria just winked at him before rising up on her toes, her hand on his shoulder for balance. But she didn’t kiss him, instead reaching up with her free hand, grabbing the hat that was floating above his head. Just before she dropped back down though, she pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.  
  
“Leave him alone, you harpies,” Maria said. 

“Traitor!” Rosa gasped, dramatically, amidst noises of disappointment from the others.

“That’s what you get for trying to use my mouth for evil,” Maria said, waving the hat in their direction. “I’m starving. Let the man make pancakes already.” 

“Thanks for that,” Michael half-whispered, awkwardly. 

Maria grinned, and winked again. “Make it up to me by giving me the best pancakes of the batch,” she said, lightly, then went back to refill her glass. 

Just for that, he was gonna try his hand at pancake art, he decided. Rosa? Rosa was definitely getting a poop emoji made out of a slightly burned pancake.

His phone chimed. _British people should never be allowed to look at another churro until they learn how to say it right._

 _Can’t argue with that_ , he texted Alex back, trying to hide the fact that he was grinning like an idiot from the harpies in the living room. He was in a good mood, and he was absolutely not going to let them tease him out of it.

He poured himself a mimosa too, grabbed a squeeze bottle to fill with batter, and got down to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some recipe inspo:
> 
> https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/218219/chili-cream-cheese-frosting/ 
> 
> beautifulcheat recently went to a cabin with her quarantine pod and her chef friend made some lemon ricotta pancakes that were amazing. For the record, she usually is not a pancake fan. The recipe was:  
> Mix wet ( 1c milk, 3/4c ricotta, 3 egg, 1tsp vanilla, 1 lemon zest and juice, 1T butter)  
> Add dry ( 1+ 1/2c flour, 3 1/2T sugar, 2tsp Baking power, 1/4tsp baking soda, 1/2tsp salt). We essentially worked off this recipe and this inspo: https://carlsbadcravings.com/lemon-ricotta-pancakes/


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Michael gets a little brotherly bonding time in and finally takes a bit of a risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We highly recommend that you have read at very least the second half of chapter 7 of [Petit Fours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393293/chapters/64292161) before this chapter, as it is very directly referenced.
> 
> But also if you're keeping up with this fic and not reading that one, what's holding you back? ;)

Michael stood in front of Max’s door, shifting from foot to foot, a little nervously. Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. 

He had no idea why he was actually _nervous_. He shouldn’t be nervous, it was just Max. And he’d made the plans days ago with Liz, so he should have had plenty of time to prepare. Plenty of time to figure out a recipe and shop. He even had a couple bags to prove it. He shifted them in his hands, hearing Max’s familiar footsteps heading toward the door. 

“Hey,” Max said, as he opened the door, grinning his stupid, goofy grin. And it wasn’t just Michael’s imagination - Max’s smile got even goofier once he and Liz got together in earnest.

“Hey. Ready for this?” 

Max nodded. “Kitchen’s clean, lasagna’s ready to go, beer’s in the fridge,” he said, as he let Michael in. “You?” 

“Settled on a peanut butter chocolate layer cake. No mint.” Michael said, raising the bag a little. Max tried to grab the bag out of Michael’s hand but Michael moved out of the way, heading into the kitchen. “What? Don’t trust me?” He grinned.  
  
“With my life, not my palate.” Max shut the door and headed towards the kitchen where Michael was taking the items he’d bought out of the bags. He’d mostly brought stuff he figured Max didn’t already have in his pantry like baking powder and vanilla extract, as well as recipe-specific ingredients like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and chocolate chips that he _knew_ Max wouldn’t have -- mostly because they wouldn’t last a late-night writing binge. 

“Dude, I have flour.” Max laughed as Michael pulled that out.

“Good, then I’ll keep this for myself. Where’s Liz?” 

“Working.” That sneaky little shit, Michael thought. It was supposed to be the three of them!

Max continued talking, seemingly unaware of Michael’s annoyance. “She’ll be home for dinner, though.” He grabbed out a couple beers from the fridge, opening them and handing one over. That’s when he noticed Michael’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Michael took a sip of the beer. “I really hope you have measuring cups and stuff.” 

Max hummed suspiciously, staring at Michael. But Michael was quite practiced at ignoring Max’s so-called piercing stares. He just busied himself with his notebook, finding the page with the recipe and digging out the cake pans he brought. By the time Michael was preheating the oven, Max had decided to let it go, like Michael knew he would. Because this was brother bonding time, schemed up by Liz and Max approved.

Honestly, he should have seen this coming.  
  
“I do actually cook sometimes,” Max grumbled, pulling out measuring cups, spoons and a couple of bows. He set the items on the counter next to the ingredients and looked at Michael. “Ok, tell me what to do.”  
  
“I have been waiting to hear that for twenty years!” Michael grinned, nudging the recipe toward him. “Measure out and mix up the dry. Step two.” He said, waving his hand towards his notebook as he grabbed the cake pans to get them ready. 

Max rolled his eyes but did as told. “Is this your own recipe?” He asked, looking at the handwritten instructions.  
  
“Eh, kinda. I was poking around the internet but I wasn’t entirely loving any recipes so I kinda mashed a few different ones together.” At Max’s curious look, Michael elaborated. He rubbed the back of neck, feeling a little shy suddenly. “Sometimes the recipes seem like they were written by--” Michael paused, making a face.  
  
Max laughed. “Were you going to say _aliens_?” 

“No, dumbasses,” Michael lied and started laughing too. “The choice in ingredients or the measurements or the prep time are off in a lot of recipes. So I’ve been improvising a lot more lately.”

“That’s cool,” Max said, opening the bag of Peanut Butter Cups and popping one in his mouth. “You’re really getting good at this.”  
  
“These,” Michael said, snatching the bag from Max’s hand. “Are for the cake, Max.” 

“Ugh fine.” Max shook his head and started working on measuring out the ingredients. Putting them into a bowl, while Michael moved on to the wet ingredients. Working with Max wasn’t quite what he expected (but then again, he didn’t really know what to expect). They didn’t really talk as they mixed the ingredients, separately then together. But unlike most of their silences over the last decade, there was no tension between them. 

And that was nice.  
  
“Do you have a mixer?” Michael asked.  
  
“Yeah, just a hand mixer though. Hopefully that’ll do.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t it?” Michael shrugged. “You realize that I was using my powers to mix stuff, before Izzy and her stupidly indulgent kitchen.”  
  
Max laughed. “I know Isobel’s been spoiling you with her fancy appliances.”  
  
Michael snorted. “More like using them like a snare.” 

Max grabbed the hand mixer from its hiding place and plugged it in. “You’re ridiculous.”  
  
“Am not,” Michael replied maturely, snatching the mixer and using it to combine all the ingredients together. 

Max tried for the bag of Peanut Butter Cups again while Michael was mixing, forcing him to point the battered covered mixer at Max’s chest threateningly. Max whined. “One isn’t going to hurt!”  
  
“Pft, it’s never just one with you. It’s a peanut butter massacre. Get away!” Michael has seen Max eat an entire jar of peanut butter with his fingers. Peanut butter and chocolate were never safe around Max Evans.  
  
“You’re getting batter all over my kitchen.”  
  
“Stay away from my ingredients then.” They glared at each other for a moment, Michael waving the mixer around threateningly. Dripping more batter on the kitchen floor. Max finally relented and grabbed a towel to clean it up. Michael levitated the bag of Peanut Butter Cups into one of the cabinets while Max wasn’t looking. 

And that was the end of that. They got back to work. Max asking how he knew the batter was ready and Michael explaining it to him. Michael knew that Max wasn’t entirely interested in learning how to bake but he appreciated that Max asked anyway.  
  
“Does Isobel bake with you?” Max asked  
  
“Sometimes,” Michael replied. “Mostly she just sits around and tries to tell me what to do.” Max laughed at that.   
  
“Ever since you started going over more, Isobel’s been happier,” Max said, grabbing Michael’s notebook and skimming over the rest of the recipe. He did not flip through the rest of the book though, which Michael had expected. For all his overbearing, over-protective meddling, Max usually respected Michael’s space, unlike Izzy. Not that Michael would ever say it out loud.  
  
“Yeah I noticed,” Michael said, glancing at Max. “I think she’s lonely. The apartment is smaller than her old place but she was married for a long time...”  
  
Max nodded, frowning. “She was.” 

“So I dunno. I think she just wants someone around.” He hesitated, because Max looked guilty. “She’s fine, though. I mean she’s dating again, and I know she’s happy for you and Liz, too.”  
  
“Yeah she is,” Max said softly. “I’m so glad she and Liz are friends now.” 

“Yeah.” Michael laughed. “Who the hell would have called that one, right?”

Max rolled his eyes. “I would have! And you two being friends as well. Science bros! Saw it coming a mile away.”

“Science bros?”  
  
“Yeah like the Hulk and Iron Man.”  
  
“You unbelievable dork.” Michael chuckled. “Honestly, can’t really see you as a Marvel buff.”  
  
Max started to divide the batter up into the cake pans. “Rosa and Liz have been watching them, to help Rosa get up to speed with the cultural zeitgeist and all. Sometimes I watch with them… if Rosa’s cool with it.”  
  
“Things getting a little less frosty for you two then?” Michael asked. He hasn’t been around for all the training sessions but he’s gotten the low down from Isobel. 

“Very, very slowly,” Max said, putting the pans in the oven. “She’s been through a lot. A lot of it was my fault. So just gotta have patience and hope for the best.”  
  
“Good thing you have a lot of practice dealing with me,” Michael teased, setting a timer on his phone before grabbing his beer. Michael knew he could be a pain in the ass. He was damn good at it honestly. 

Max looked surprised by that admission but he just laughed and said, “ _I_ didn’t say shit.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Michael rolled his eyes but he was grinning. Max grabbed his beer and took a long pull from it. They settled on Max’s couch while everything baked and spent the next twenty five minutes chatting and teasing each other. It felt good. And Max looked relaxed in a way Michael hadn’t seen in a while. Maybe he was this way when he was alone with Isobel. He and Max still haven’t completely bridged the decade long gap. Honestly, this was probably the first time in a long time that they’ve been alone together. Without Isobel. 

“So how come you’re not doing this like -- for real?” Max asked, eventually, when the conversation lulled a little. They were on their second beer now. 

Michael blinked, looking over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“You’re really good at this,” Max started. Michael must have looked skeptical because Max added, “I mean, _obviously_ , if you can improvise half a recipe.” Max paused when the timer went off, looking over there, starting to get up. “And it seems to make you happy.” 

Michael made a face, using his powers to open the oven and pull out the cake pans, while he got up. Thank god for his TK. Helped him avoid so many burns. Max had a toothpick ready for him to test the cakes. “I mean…” 

“Hm?” Max elbowed him, lightly. 

Michael sighed, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “I dunno. It’s a pretty big swing. And loneliness aside, I’ve gotta be grating on Izzy’s nerves a little, taking over her kitchen for my bakes for Maria. If I started taking it over to run a real business out of her house, I’m pretty sure she’d have some objections.” 

Max nodded, catching Michael’s eyes. “You can always come bake here too. But… you could get a store? Make a real go of it? I know there’s at least one empty storefront in town...” 

Michael made a face and moved away from the counter. The frosting was next so he grabbed the butter and peanut butter. “That takes _money_ , Max.” 

“Come on, man.” Max sounded a little exasperated as he handed Michael a clean bowl to work with. Michael felt the familiar irritation with Max start to bubble inside him. He mixed the powdered sugar into the butter and peanut butter with extra force.  
  
“You know Izzy’s trying to burn through Noah’s cash,” Max continued. “I know she’d loan you what you need.” 

“And _you_ know I don’t like taking charity, Max,” Michael protested. Making a face, measuring out the milk quickly and going back to basically beating the mixture to smoothness, his back to Max.

A moment later, he was wincing. “ _Ow_.” Turning back to Max, who’d smacked him upside the back of the head. “What was that for?” He asked, sourly.

“It’s not charity when you’re gonna pay it back.” Even though Max was frowning, his tone was gentle. Usually Michael would read it as pity, but he wasn’t angry enough for that this time. And having thick peanut butter to take his frustration out on probably didn’t hurt. He continued to work on the mixture, which was probably smooth enough already. “Is it charity when you fix my car and I have to pay you a week or two later?” 

“That’s not the same!” Michael protested. 

“It’s not that different, either.” Max rolled his eyes, clearly thinking Michael was being purposefully obtuse. “It’s not charity when it’s a loan to family, dumbass.” 

It wasn’t the first time Max had said as much. Or Izzy, for that matter. But that resentful part of his brain always wanted to see it as charity. And the distrustful part of his brain was always looking for a catch. Years and years of being cynically self sufficient were hard to shake.

Michael looked down at the bowl in his hands, frowning. Thought about making cakes for a living. Thought about working with Maria to create bakes for the Pony’s events. Thought about how happy Greg’s class was with the cookies he brought up. It felt good, brightening people’s day with something as simple as a cake or a muffin (Kyle had been so pleased to have bakes that worked with his diet and tasted good). It felt good being the source of that happiness. 

Max had gone back to carefully reading Michael’s recipe. Michael appreciated the chance to just think. The frosting was a little too thin because he’d basically beaten the shit out of it, so he added more sugar. Max had a sweet tooth, anyway.

Maybe he could get out of his own way long enough to ask her. Maybe. But also…

“What if I fail?” He found himself asking, suddenly. 

“What?” 

“What if…” Michael let out a slow breath, trying to will the knot in his stomach to relax. “What if I try it, and I fuck up? And fail?” 

Max was quiet for a couple minutes, and Michael could hear his own heartbeat in the silence. 

“So you fuck up.” Max shrugged. “You fail. For the record, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. But if it does? That’s what family is there for, to fall back on.”  
  
Michael’s chest felt tight and he wiped his suddenly damp hands on one of the kitchen towels. “C’mon, Max, that’s a lot of money down the drain.”  
  
Max shrugged. “Well I guess you’ll owe Isobel your soul. Or at least let her give you a makeover or something as an apology.”

“Oh God, she would ask for that, wouldn’t she?” Michael groaned. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t always trying to slip fresh t-shirts into his wardrobe.

“She’ll take you shopping, Michael,” Max said with the weight of someone who’s experienced this. “And take you to the salon for mani pedis.”  
  
“You’re not making me want to ask her.”

Max grinned, and Michael realized that it was because he’d admitted to thinking about asking, which didn’t make him any less annoyed.  
  
“Ask her,” Max pushed, gently. He squeezed Michael’s shoulder briefly. “Just don’t fail. Unless you want a whole new avant-garde wardrobe. She’ll have you looking like David Rose.”

“Who?” 

Max laughed. “Sorry. Liz and I have been binging Schitt’s Creek. I think you’d like it, actually.”  
  
Michael rolled his eyes. “You two are getting so domestic. When are you gonna throw in the towel and become a house husband?” he asked, relieved to have a distraction to throw at Max.

Max laughed, “I should be so lucky, man.” 

“Honestly shocked you haven’t proposed yet.” 

“It’s too soon.” To that, Michael raised an eyebrow in disbelief. Max had been pining after Liz Ortecho since they were kids after all. “For her! And don’t give me that look, Michael, it’s not like you’re a stranger to drama with the loves of your life.” 

Michael felt his neck heat up at that and started working on leveling the cakes with a knife. “Can’t have drama when the series is over.” He waved his hand a bit.

“ _Is_ it?” Max asked. “‘Cause the way I hear it, you’re due for a reboot.” 

“Oh shut up and start chopping up the Resse’s cups.” Annoyed, Michael focused smearing frosting over two layers. 

Max, thankfully, did what he was told, and Michael took a moment to put excess frosting into a piping bag he’d brought along.

“Seriously though, man,” Max said after catching sight of the piping bag.

Michael sighed. “Microwave half a cup of heavy whipping cream until it’s about to boil, ” he said, pointing. He only started to spread the cut up peanut butter cups over the frosting when Max started to do as told. “Alex is with someone else, and Maria doesn’t need me worrying over her all the time while she’s working on mastering her powers. Both of them are happy, Max. I’m not going to fuck with that, and I’m not going to hope either of them fail.” 

“You’re a good guy, Michael.” Max glanced away from the microwave so he could catch Michael’s eye again.

“Shut up.” he grumbled, and tossed a Reese’s at him. 

“I mean it.” Max was ducking, laughing. Scooping the wrapped candy off the floor and then shoving the bowl in Michael’s hands. “You’re a good guy, and you deserve to be happy.”

Thankfully Max let it go after that. Michael supposed he’d made his point. 

* * *

Michael knocked on Alex’s door, dessert box balanced on one hand. He felt surprisingly calm, for having Alex’s first bake in tow. Maybe it was having a good dozen fails to his name before he came up with something he actually liked. Maybe it was talking to Max that helped. Maybe he’d just gotten _so_ nervous that he’d actually transcended nerves and passed through to the other side. 

He could hear a couple faint notes -- Alex was playing his keyboard again, and Michael bit back a soft smile. Few things on this shitty planet made him as happy as listening to Alex play. He felt a little bad knocking again but these sweets weren’t going to eat themselves.

Alex stopped a moment later, and when he opened the door, Michael couldn’t help but let that smile through. He looked… soft, relaxed. His hair rumpled, wearing a worn t-shirt and jeans. Barefoot, and on his crutch. Michael was clearly catching him in a relaxed moment. 

“Guerin.” Alex started. Surprised, looking at him for a moment. “Is that a cake?” He asked, with a slow smile. 

“No, it’s a spare tire,” Michael said, dryly. 

“Took you long enough,” Alex laughed, stepping away from the door and waving Michael in.

“Am I interrupting you?” Michael asked as he followed, closing the door behind himself. 

Alex shrugged, going to turn off the keyboard. “Not really. Just messing with something for open mic.”

“You’re performing again?” Michael asked, heading to set the cake down on Alex’s kitchen counter. 

“I was thinking about it. If I can finish. What’d you make me?” Alex asked as he closed his notebook.

“Dark chocolate cupcakes with chili cream cheese frosting. Cupcakes, so that some of them are a little less spicy because I’m not quite the culinary masochist you are.”

Alex laughed, unrepentant, Michael noted, like the shit he is. But it didn’t matter because the sound made Michael pleasantly warm and happy. “Grab some plates?” 

Michael turned to look through Alex’s cabinets, when something on the fridge caught his eye. Mostly because Alex’s place was always so obsessively neat and had about as much personality as a copy of _Homes and Gardens_ that anything stuck to the fridge just seemed out of place. 

But then he read it, and completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. “What’s this?” 

“What?” He heard Alex coming up from behind him, then stop in his tracks. “Oh. Michael…” 

“Rules for courting Michael Guerin?” He read it off, hearing his own voice cracking, knowing that he probably looked somewhere between panicked and shocked. He looked away from the paper that had two very distinct and familiar sets of handwriting on it, and turned to Alex “What?” 

Alex was flushed and uncomfortable looking. He lunged for the scrap of paper as much as his crutch would let him, snatching it out of Michael’s hand. “That’s.. Something that Maria and I were talking about.” 

“You and Maria?” Michael asked, feeling really… slow. Was this what normal people felt like? 

“We’ve talked.” Alex started, and Michael felt his eyebrow inching up a bit. 

“About me?” 

Alex gave him a shut-up-dumbass look. “No, about Star Trek.” 

Michael groaned, remembering, belatedly, that he needed to grab plates, turning to look through Alex’s cabinets. 

“What about what’s his name?” Michael knew his name, and knew he was being childish. That didn’t stop him, of course.

“Forrest?” Alex asked, sounding like he was fighting a smile. Michael looked over his shoulder, just to double check. Alex was slipping his phone away, looking up at Michael, immediately, a brief flash of some kind of panic. But Alex smiled at him, as soon as their eyes met. It was a little sad seeming, and Michael immediately regretted the pettiness.  
  
“Yeah. That guy.” 

“What about him?” Alex asked, shrugging a little.

“You’re dating?” Michael said, setting the plates down on the counter maybe a little too hard. He ignored the arched eyebrow Alex threw his way. Just frowning at him, expectantly. 

“I mean, we’ve been on some dates.” Alex said, with a shrug.

Michael continued to frown, now just confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Pretty sure I’ve made it clear in the past that angsty nerds aren’t _really_ my type,” Alex said dryly. 

“Alex...” Michael shook his head, leaning against the counter, his hand on the box of the cakes. “I’m holding these hostage until you talk.”

“Rude.” Alex half-laughed, but there wasn’t much mirth in it. He met Michael’s gaze. “Honestly? We broke up. It wasn’t really serious, anyway. Just casual. Fun. I think we’re friends?” 

“Do you kiss all your friends like that?”  
  
“Michael.” Alex snapped, clearly frustrated. Annoyed. 

“Sorry,” he got out, quickly. God, that was stupid to say, especially when Alex was actually opening up some. “Sorry, I’m…”  
  
“Jealous?” Alex supplied. 

Fuck. He’d been trying to keep a lid on that. “Yeah,” he said, letting out a slow breath. Admitting it actually felt good. “I guess, maybe a little. Not that I wasn’t _happy_ for you, but yeah… I was.” He looked down at the box of cupcakes.  
  
Alex was quiet for a minute. “You’re the one who walked away.” When Michael started to say something, Alex held up his hand. “I get why you did. You weren’t wrong to.” 

“No, I wasn’t.” He didn’t regret it. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, walking away from Alex. Multiple times. When he was giving him the stupid guitar, when he was trying to help Michael learn about his family. When he was being so open, putting himself out there. _In fucking song_. But it had been the right thing to do each time. As much as it hurt to walk away, it hurt more every time they crashed and burned after the high of getting together again. 

So even now, Michael was considering walking away again. Even with this fucking cake box of symbolic gestures between them, he was considering it. Because Michael was still afraid. 

And maybe Alex sensed it, because he put a hand over Michael’s. “I’m sorry.”

Michael swallowed, looking up at him, quizzically. 

“I’ve been letting bullshit get between us for too long,” Alex continued, at that look.

“It wasn’t just you,” Michael had to say. “At least half of the bullshit between us is mine.”  
  
“Yeah but I was really good at using it against you.” Michael shook his head, no way.  
  
Alex, however, just shook his head and, sounding so tired said, “And so many of our problems could have been solved if we just _talked_ to each other.”

Michael made a sound of displeasure, scrunching up his nose. Neither of them were fans of talking, after all. 

“I know, I know.” Alex laughed, which is what Michael wanted. “Trust me, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when Maria made that rule number two,” he said, wryly… pulling out the piece of paper and waving it in the air.

“Of course it was her idea,” Michael said fondly. That had honestly been the hardest thing to get used to when he started dating Maria. She wanted him to talk. Not just snarky one liners either. She’d ask him about his day. How he felt. She’d asked for his opinion on damn near everything, and she actually listened. It was weird. He’d never really felt that way, before, like what he cared about was just as important to her as it was to him. And he missed it.

“Yeah and she’s right,” Alex said, slowly. “We have this connection, you and I. It keeps drawing us back together and I kept taking it for granted. Taking _you_ for granted.” Michael opened his mouth, possibly to protest. Alex was right, and he wasn’t, all at the same time. Honestly his feelings were all conflicted right now so it was a good thing Alex didn’t let him interrupt. “But that connection isn’t enough. You were smart to realize that. Smart to step back. I couldn’t see it for the longest time. I guess I couldn’t until dad died…” 

Alex pressed his lips together tightly for a moment and Michael’s hand itched to pull Alex closer. But Alex shook his head, like he was shaking away some ghost, and looked back at Michael now. 

“I got one foot out of the closet now,” Alex said with a wry smile. “Working on getting the rest of me out.” 

“You’ve been out since sophomore year,” Michael said, dryly. 

“Not really, though,” Alex countered. “It’s one thing to tell people you’re gay, and another to really be comfortable with it. And for the longest time, I wasn’t comfortable.” That was something Michael couldn’t disagree with. 

Alex hesitated. “No. I knew that if my dad ever saw me happy with someone, he’d ruin it. Anytime I was anywhere near him, I was that terrified seventeen year old kid again. I just covered it up with bravado and sarcasm.” Here Alex looked at Michael, apologetic, eyes a little damp. “And I treated you like shit because of it too but … I don’t feel seventeen anymore.” He smiled at Michael. “Not even when you look at me.” 

It was really fucking hard to keep from pulling Alex into his arms, telling him to shut up, that he didn’t need to go through this, not for him. But he thought Alex needed to get this out -- and maybe he needed to hear it all, too.  
  
“So how _do_ you feel, then?” Michael asked when he was finally able to talk around the lump in his throat.

“Honestly?” Alex started, thoughtfully. “I’m not really sure. But I think I’m looking forward to whatever comes next, instead of looking back and dwelling in that angst?” He dragged his hand through his already-mussed hair. “But this isn’t just about me. What do _you_ want?” 

Michael exhaled hard, scrubbed his face with his hand. “I want you to try these damn cupcakes.”  
  
Alex laughed, just a little wetly. “So I’ve talked enough to deserve it?” 

“More than enough,” Michael laughed, too. He was grateful for the momentary distraction of opening the box and pulling out one of Alex’s extra-spicy cupcakes, thoughtfully marked by little chili peppers, and getting one of the less-spicy ones for himself too. 

“I think you’re letting me off a little too easily,” Alex said, looking amused. “I don’t know if I’d be so accommodating in your shoes.” 

“Give me a break,” Michael said, with a shake of his head, handing Alex his plate. “I need some time to process. And that was a lot.”  
  
Alex grunted in agreement and picked up the cupcake, smiling as he took it in. “The chili pepper is a nice touch--cute,” he said and finally took a bite. 

“Gotta make sure to keep your extra spicy ones just for you.” Michael was definitely holding his breath while Alex chewed and Alex definitely noticed because his eyebrow arched up and he smirked. 

“Don’t be dumb, it’s delicious.” 

He took another bite just to prove it, eyes closed and humming his approval. He licked cream cheese frosting off his fingers, not even a little bothered by the spiciness, and finished off the chili pepper with pleasure. And no matter how fraught they were, emotionally, there was nothing complicated about what Alex looking like that did to Michael.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” Alex added as he reached for another one. Michael, a little flushed, handed him another atomic-spicy one.  
  
“Not hot enough though,” Michael sighed. He’d worked on getting them as hot as he could, but the sugar and chocolate was always going to balance that out.

“Nope. But I really like the contrast between cream cheese and chili peppers. Never thought about doing that before. I like it.” He grinned. 

“Ugh you’re going to start dipping habaneros into Philly cream cheese now, aren't you?”  
  
“Not habaneros.” Alex wrinkled his nose.  
  
“Oh that’s where you draw the line? Of all the gross things you pair together, that’s where you draw the line?” Michael laughed. “You psycho.” 

“Can’t help what I like.” Alex grinned at him, licking another smudge of icing off a finger. “So. Back to the point.” 

God. Alex’s laser focus was annoying. Michael cleared his throat. “...Why don’t you finish that cupcake and play what you were working on for me?” Michael suggested. “And then we can talk more.” 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Alex said, shaking his head. But he did finish up his cupcake. 

“Learned from the best,” Michael said, lightly, getting himself another cupcake and going to settle on Alex’s couch. 

Alex was shoving a plate into his hands before his butt properly met the seat. “Crumbs,” he admonished.

“Your furniture is way too fancy.” Michael rolled his eyes. “Seriously.” 

“And I like it that way.” Alex smiled, stepping away to sit at the keyboard. 

The first notes to ring out made Michael smile. Then frown. He sat up straight, glaring at Alex. “Is that fucking _Wonderwall_?” 

Alex broke into laughter. Smirking at Michael like he was _so_ fucking proud of himself that Michael had to grab a throw pillow and launch it at his head. “Play for real, man.”

“Fine, fine.” Alex was still giggling a bit, taking a breath as he did. And the song he slipped into was unmistakably one of his. Michael listened to Alex play, watching his fingers dance over the keys for a little, but closing his eyes through most of it. This song was undoubtedly about Michael but compared to his last song, the beat was more lively, the melody quicker. Alex’s voice was soft and warm though, and maybe even a little inviting, like the sun on the first warm spring day. Michael opened his eyes, catching Alex’s eyes on him in the reflection of the window.

Michael didn’t really process standing up or going over to Alex. In fact, his brain only caught up to his body just as he was reaching to catch Alex’s face in his hands. Leaning in to kiss him, hard. It was a kiss full of all the pent up emotion from the last twenty minutes of talking or maybe from the last fucking year of acting like he didn’t want to bury himself under Alex’s skin, never leave his side again. 

After the initial surprise, Alex kissed him back with just as much fervor. But it was too short. Not enough time. Before Alex broke the kiss, looking at Michael like he was regretting the mature decision of pulling away first.

Michael knew he wished they were still kissing. But no, they were jumping the gun. They were forever jumping the gun. “.... Kind of a sappy ass song to play, wasn’t it?” Michael asked, breathlessly. Trying to play it cool.

“Yeah, maybe. It worked though.” Alex was also a little too breathless to be properly smug. His eyes kept darting back to Michael’s lips. 

“Worked?” Michael narrowed his eyes. “That’s not the song you were working on, is it?” 

“Nah.” Alex smiled up at him. “Finished that one a couple weeks ago.” 

“You are the _worst_.” Michael groaned, stepping back to sit back down, though Alex kept ahold of his hand, not letting him pull away entirely.

“It seemed appropriate for the conversation,” Alex said, looking down at their hands. His smile was so soft. “Didn’t expect you to kiss me though.”

Michael sat down on the bench. “It’s always a near thing when we’re together,” he admitted, sighing and running a hand through his unruly hair. 

“Yeah. Maybe that’s not always a good thing,” Alex said what Michael was thinking. He nodded and they were silent. Well Michael was silent. Alex was waiting. Michael was pretty acutely aware of Alex’s eyes on him. 

Crap. Well, he supposed it was time to talk. Again. “The way I see it, there’s two big problems. I think… the first one is that I’m scared this time is gonna be like all the other times. And…” Here Michael forced himself to look at Alex. “I love Maria, too. I love you both. And I don’t think I can choose. Maybe that’s why I’ve tried to be so… cool about everything. Because I want to have you both in my life in any way that I can.” 

“Read the list, Michael,” Alex responded, offering it over to him. 

Michael frowned… taking it back from him and reading. And right there, the first rule listed, was ‘never try to make him choose.’ He let out a slow breath. 

“We figured,” Alex said, gently. 

“But I’m going to have to choose someone eventually,” Michael protested. 

“Nope.” Alex shook his head. But Michael’s skepticism was clear on his face. Alex turned in his seat, catching Michael’s chin in his free hand, forcing Michael to look at him. His gaze was clear and determined. “ _No_. We talked this all out. You don’t have to. We’ll figure it out, the three of us. Together.” 

Michael chewed his lower lip. It was hard to argue in the face of Alex’s determination. But Michael still felt like it could just all blow up in his face. Sooner or later, these two gorgeous, amazing badasses would both realize they were getting a raw deal with half a Michael, when one whole Michael was already pretty worthless.

Alex suddenly rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, frowning.  
  
“Texting Maria again. Rule 6.”

“Again?” Michael frowned, confused.

“Who do you think I’ve been texting this whole time behind your back?”

Michael didn’t want to admit that he’d assumed it was Forrest, so he turned his eyes to the list. “Have you fucking memoriz…” Michael trailed off as he read rule six, and reached over to push Alex. “I am not going _crazy_.” 

“Michael, I’ve known you long enough to know your panicked low-self worth face.” Alex laughed, shaking his head a little. 

He snorted, offended. He did not have that face. There was no _face._ Alex had a face and it was dumb. 

“Maria’s on her way.” Alex said, letting out a relieved breath. “Grab the whiskey? I think it’s gonna be a long talk.” 

“Maria’s leaving work?” Michael said, so surprised it completely stopped all the bad excuses he had been generating in his brain while Alex texted Maria. Sorry gotta go, there’s a hub cap emergency at the junkyard. Sorry Alex, I’m gonna run away now… alien-business. 

“Of course she is.” Alex shook his head. “You’re worth an afternoon off work, Guerin.”   
  
Michael flushed, dropping his eyes for a minute. “... Well I guess someone’s gotta help us eat all these cupcakes.” 

“Absolutely fucking not. Those are mine.” 

“You’re so weird.” Michael got up and went straight for Alex’s liquor cabinet. He didn’t know who was crazier. The two gorgeous assholes who had repeatedly, right before Michael’s eyes, been unable to share desserts wanting to convince him that they could share _him_. Or him for letting them try.

No, it was him. Definitely him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recipe inspo: 
> 
> https://www.lifeloveandsugar.com/peanut-butter-chocolate-layer-cake/ 
> 
> https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/218220/cinco-de-chili-chocolate-cupcakes-with-chili-cream-cheese-frosting/ - obviously Michael would have edited this because it calls for cake mix. He’s grown beyond pre-made mixes at this point


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which cookies are made and much talking is had.

“Took you long enough,” Michael heard Alex say. Alex had gone to answer the door while Michael had stayed sitting on the keyboard bench, trying not to crush Alex’s guitar with his grip. Nerves. 

He didn’t hear Maria’s response but he could tell it was sarcastic.

“Did you bring the whole bar with you?” Alex continued, a moment later, probably following an eyeroll if he knew them. And Michael knew them well when it came to snark.

Alex stepped out of the way, letting Maria by. Michael glanced down at the guitar, strumming it again. Not having been able to consistently play for the last ten years, the right calluses had long since vanished, and his playing was still pretty rusty. But it was all right; the basic chords and the sting of the wound metal on his fingertips served their purpose--quieting his mind. 

“Some of this is for mixing,” Maria said, distracted, walking deeper into Alex’s home so she could set the box full of booze and other bottles down on the kitchen counter. Her hair was up, with a few curls framing her face. She was, as always, exceptionally cute, in a black camisole and an oversized flannel shirt, tied at the waist to expose her belly and dropping over one smooth shoulder. A pair of blue jeans hugged her hips and legs like a jealous lover. She looked relaxed and comfortable. She’d definitely worn fancier clothes at the bar but this look, coupled with Alex standing next to her in his jeans and soft-looking t-shirt… it stressed him out. He couldn’t exactly place his finger on _why_ it stressed him out, but it did.

He strummed the guitar again. The room fell silent for a moment. They were likely looking at him. He felt ridiculous but he couldn’t look up at them yet. He needed more time to process than they were giving him.  
  
But then… he hasn’t left. He plucked a few chords, took a breath. Ok.

“I didn’t realize this was a party,” Alex said dryly, and Michael couldn’t help but wonder if it was, for once, Alex trying to fill the oppressive silence. Maria was clearly ignoring him now. She looked a little stressed herself until her eyes found Michael’s. Again, he tried not to grip the neck of the guitar too tightly as their eyes met. He took another breath and carefully set the guitar aside, standing.

“Sometimes it’s nice to have something to occupy your hands with.” She was responding to Alex but clearly talking to Michael. She held up a bag. “I also brought this…”

Michael frowned, taking it, and pulled out a box of cake mix. “Are you _kidding_ me?” He asked, trying to keep his voice from slipping into profound disappointment. 

Maria looked innocent, but in that overly-affected way that she got sometimes, and Michael narrowed his eyes at her. 

Alex, behind him, dissolved into laughter. “Rest of the stuff in the car?” 

“Yup,” Maria said, breaking out into a grin in response to Michael’s frown. Reaching to cup Michael’s cheeks, she kissed him, a light, playful little peck. “God, your face. Never seen you so insulted in my life.” 

His annoyance with Maria didn’t exactly dissipate but a sort of flushed bemusement pushed it aside as he blinked down at her. She just continued to look at him, somehow both smug and serene all at once. He almost kissed her again. Leave it to Michael and Alex to circle around each other angsting and for Maria to just cut to the point. 

“What stuff? There better be something I can work with,” Michael huffed, throwing the box of cake mix towards the trash can, using his TK to pop the lid of the can open at the last possible second.

“Hey, that was perfectly good!” Maria protested, but she was smiling. 

“Perfectly cheating. Don’t insult me.” Michael was biting back a smile of his own. Hers was infectious. 

Silence fell, for just a moment, the two of them standing there, awkwardly. Michael was suddenly full of panic, again. Was this when it would all fall apart? 

“So, you found the list,” Maria started. 

Michael nodded. Not sure what to say, or how to say it. And ended up blurting out, “You left work early.” 

Maria looked surprised. Tilting her head a little. “Oh sweetie,” she said softly, her hand taking hold of his. “Of course I did.” He squeezed her hand back. Smiling, she tugged him towards the kitchen.  
  
“So, what are we baking?” Michael asked. 

“Sugar cookies.” Maria’s expression shifted to something bittersweet and Michael knew that she was going to talk about Mimi now. Since she was still holding his hand, he gave it another squeeze. Rubbing her knuckles with his thumb in slow, hopefully soothing, circles. She stepped a little closer to him, and Michael felt like a satellite irresistibly caught in Maria’s gravity. 

“Might be a little simple for you now,” she continued. “But… mama and I used to make them when I was a kid. Alex too, he’d come over for holidays and we’d decorate them together. I thought it’d be a nice thing to do together. Even brought over mama’s secret recipe.”

“It’s perfect,” Michael said, his throat tight. “Does Alex even have a cookie sheet?” He asked, starting to look for a bowl. 

“Of course I have a cookie sheet!” Alex protested as he came back in, setting another bag down. 

“I make no assumptions. For all I know you live off of Thai takeout, the Crashdown, and corner store snacks,” Michael said dryly, pulling out bottles and mixers from the box Maria had brought over. 

“That… that is fair.” Alex laughed, pulling up a barstool to sit on. 

Maria arched an eyebrow. “What, are you just going to supervise?” 

“Too many cooks and all that.” Alex shrugged. 

“You can divide up all the ingredients,” Maria said flatly, taking the measuring cup from Michael’s hand and pushing it towards Alex. “I’m making drinks.” 

“Fine, fine." Sighing dramatically, Alex got to work. “Better make them stiff.” 

This was so weird and adorably domestic, and Michael felt so out of place here, with them. He occupied himself with Mimi’s ‘secret recipe’ -- which wasn’t exactly that much different from any other sugar cookie recipe he’d seen, but was hand-written on a very old recipe card. He wondered if it was actually Patty’s. Either way, it must mean a lot to her, Michael reasoned.  
  
Michael looked up from the card to Maria, who was moving around in Alex’s not-big-enough-for-this kitchen, grabbing lowball glasses and other items from their hiding places like she owned the place, like she lived there. Michael turned the recipe card over in his hands, feeling warm, beyond touched. There was so much trust shown in the simple act of handing him the card. No fanfare, no mock threats. Just like here, have it… step into my life. 

“Ah hah!” Maria said, digging out a box of fancy looking chocolate mix. “I knew you had a stash.”  
  
“I thought we were making sugar cookies?” Alex said.  
  
“You are,” Maria replied. “ _I_ _’m_ making hot chocolate. But until then….” Maria poured out whiskey into three lowball glasses. 

“Is that what these are for?” Alex asked, holding up marshmallows. 

“Mmhm. Unless Michael decides to go crazy and make some from scratch.”

Michael laughed. It _would_ be an interesting challenge. He’d have to remember to try it one day. 

“First things first. Alex, can you take care of the dry ingredients?” Handing the recipe over to him. “I’ll handle the sugars.” 

“Sir,” Alex acknowledged, playfully. Michael wrinkled his nose in distaste. Alex and Maria exchanged a look before they burst into laughter, clearly enjoying torturing him.

Shaking his head, Michael got to work. It was good, soothing to measure out the sugar, the butter. Having something to do. Hand mixing was hard, physical work. It really did help focus him.

“So...” Maria started, and Michael tried not to hold his breath and clench his teeth. 

“So...” Alex agreed. 

“Is this the moment where I say ‘so’ too?” Michael asked. He couldn’t help it. The situation was already setting his teeth on edge, maybe they were trying to be funny but they were not helping. 

Maria rolled her eyes, elbowing him lightly. “ _So_ , we weren’t exactly ready for all this. We were planning some kind of big gesture, just hadn’t nailed down the specifics. This might be a bit… muddled.” 

“Maybe a list of talking points,” Alex chimed in, unhelpfully. 

“I think you two have made enough lists,” Michael said dryly. 

“Yes, we have,” Maria said but Michael didn’t think she necessarily agreed. She grabbed the bag of marshmallows, tore it open, and popped one in her mouth. “I guess the first question is… is this something you’re okay with?” 

Ok with, she asked, as if Michael had passed the incredulous stage. “Not to sound accusatory,” he said after a moment of furious mixing. “But are _you_ really ok with it, Maria?” 

“It was my idea,” Maria said, simply. It never really occurred to Michael that it was an idea that someone had actually come up with, let alone who had come up with it. He looked up at them both, frowning, confused. “Really?” 

“We talked about it. Alex and I want each other to be happy,” Maria continued.

“That’s you,” Alex interjected and Michael wondered if he was just imagining that there should be a ‘stupid’ at the end of his sentence. “You make us happy.” 

“Really?” Michael couldn’t help but ask. “Because as far as I recall, I’ve made both of you pretty fucking miserable.” 

Maria and Alex exchanged unreadable glances. “You missed a spot,” Maria said to Michael, pointing at the bowl. 

Michael frowned, looking down, not seeing it but beating it harder. 

“Just because we’ve been unhappy doesn't mean it was always your _fault_ , Michael,” Maria continued, after a hesitation.

But it was sometimes, he thought regretfully. Making people miserable was like his second super power. It took almost no effort at all. He ducked his head a little, not responding. Not really knowing how to without sounding like an argumentative asshole.

As if Alex could read his mind, he spoke up. “And as I recall, we’ve both made you pretty unhappy, too.” Though Alex was frowning, it wasn’t as severe… like he was making, maybe, an effort to also not be an argumentative asshole. ‘Cause in that way, Michael thought ruefully. They were two peas in a pod. 

Michael gave the batter another beating and tried to decide what to do, what to say. Well, communication was on the list right? Michael didn’t know which number it was yet. But it was on there. It’s what they wanted. 

“Why would we even try?” He spoke softly, unable to really look at them. “If we’re all going to end up making each other miserable?” 

Maria growled. Michael looked up at her just in time for her to bounce a marshmallow off his face. 

“Hey!” He sputtered. 

“Your tenth-grade drama class angst is making poor Alex roll his eyes straight out of his head,” Maria said, tartly. “Drink your whiskey.”

Alex held out the glass for Michael and Michael took it. Dutifully taking a drink. It wasn’t the cheap stuff Michael usually bought, but it also wasn’t too smooth, still a nice burn as it went down. And he focused on that. 

“I thought I was supposed to be communicating,” he grumbled. But he did feel a little better, the mood lightened.

“Yeah, but you’re gonna make us do this all backwards,” Maria complained while he drank. His confusion must have shown on his face because she continued, “You don’t dump everything in a bowl while you’re baking, right?”

“Right…” Michael said, cautiously. Trying to understand her point.

“Right. So let’s focus on one question for now. Do you love us? Both of us?” 

Michael took another drink. “You know I do,” he said. He’d already admitted it to Alex earlier. It was getting easier to say it out loud, not that he was any less anxious. He couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that he was sticking his neck out, waiting for the guillotine. “But I..” He trailed off, as Maria was brandishing another marshmallow. 

He closed his mouth and Maria nodded in approval. He refrained from rolling his eyes. There’s been enough of that already. 

“Okay. You love us. We love you. Alex and I love each other, platonically. Enough to give this a shot. Even if it’s scary.” 

“Terrifying,” Alex corrected, voice rough and heavy, watching his own finger slide around the rim of his glass. 

“I seem to remember big talk about airmen not being terrified of anything?” Maria grinned at him. This was clearly some kind of inside joke between the two of them. Alex looked completely tired and annoyed with Maria. No not annoyed, exasperated. Maria had teased him about this a lot, Michael realized, surprised; as if he didn’t know they were close friends. 

“Insurgents have nothing on supernatural serial killers, Maria, and that’s neither here nor there.” Alex protested. “Love’s allowed to be a little terrifying.” 

“He likes to pretend he just _doesn’t like_ horror movies, instead of being scared,” Maria loud-whispered over at Michael, grinning.

Michael paused, frowning in confusion and looking between Alex and Maria. “Alex is scared of horror movies?” 

“Fuck you both,” Alex sighed. And, _God,_ but it was true! Michael could tell by the unhappy crease to his brow. The way he was glaring challengingly at them. 

Honestly Michael should be gleeful at this bit of ammunition but instead it just reminded him of how much he still didn’t know about Alex, of the gap between them. A gap that Alex, and Maria, were trying to close with songs, old recipe cards, sugar cookies, and boozy hot chocolate. “Can we focus here, please?” Alex broke into his thoughts.

“I donno, I kinda wanna talk about your fear of horror movies,” Michael grinned, feeling… good. He met Maria’s eye, she looked pleased, and… seriously what would he do without her? 

“First date can be a horror movie night?” Maria offered, grinning evilly at Alex, and a part of Michael was undeniably delighted. 

“No. Focus,” Alex snapped. “Michael, do you want...” He stopped for a moment. “No, let’s go slower. Are you open to giving this a shot?” He was looking at Michael with laser-like focus that made him feel like he was under a microscope. 

“I…” He fumbled for the words. “I…” He swallowed, past the sudden tightness in his throat. Yeah, Alex was right. This was terrifying. He nodded. “I think so. Yeah...” It was undeniable. Michael wanted this. Even with the five alarm fire that was this situation, Michael was still glad to be here with them. To be the focus of their attention, of their love. For them to want him, like he wanted them. For them to need him. To let him in. 

And to not be kicked out, into the cold again.

The two of them let out twin sighs of relief, and Maria pulled him into a hug that was surprisingly tight. He always forgot how strong she was. And he just… he just soaked it up. Pressed his nose in her hair, and soaked up her warmth and strength. 

Alex stood, without his crutch, using the counter for support. He waited for their hug to end before extending his hand to Michael. The uncertain hope in his eyes made Michael bypass the hand entirely, throwing his arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug. Alex was holding him back just as tightly, clinging to him with both arms. Leaning his weight into Michael. Alex laughed softly, brushed a soft kiss against Michael’s cheek, before tucking his nose against Michael’s neck. 

“Okay.” Maria was smiling, brighter than he’d ever seen before. “Good. That’s really good.” 

Michael reached for the bowl of dry ingredients that Alex had mixed up, so he could mix them together. Just trying to take a beat to think about the insanity he just dove into. Maria and Alex were both smiling at him, and each other, and it was so warm… He loved seeing them that happy, he could reach out and kiss them.

And… he supposed he could but… Michael chewed on his lower lip. 

“You’ve got to roll that out. And we have to make icing?” Alex saved him. 

“Icing can come later,” Maria said with a shrug. She grabbed one of the liquor bottles. “This work as a rolling pin?” 

“Yeah.” Michael nodded, chuckling, and taking it from her, going to wash it off. 

Maria worked on the hot chocolate while he rolled out the dough. He half listened to Maria and Alex joke and snipe at each other as he sorted out his thoughts. 

“Do you have cookie cutters?” Michael asked, assuming the answer was no, looking for a glass. 

“I got one at the store,” Maria volunteered, pulling it out of the bag and offering it to him. 

It was a heart. Because _of course_ it was. He looked at her. She didn’t even look a bit embarrassed. 

“You really did plan this all out, didn’t you?” Michael asked, shaking his head, taking it. 

“Less premeditated and more a happy coincidence.” She shrugged one shoulder, amused. 

Michael rolled his eyes, trying not to smile too much and encourage her cheesiness. By the time he was done cutting out the cookies, he had a cup of boozy hot chocolate, brimming with marshmallows, and he was actually, kind of, relaxed. 

At some point, Alex got up, helped him transfer the cut out cookies to a parchment-lined cookie sheet. 

“Time to talk for real,” Alex murmured, once they were done and the cookies were in the oven, his hand on Michael’s back, gently. 

“I guess so.” Michael nodded, swallowing. Knowing it was necessary but also incredibly sick of talking already. 

“Meet you two on the couch,” Maria said lightly, stealing Alex’s hot chocolate so he didn’t have to manage it and his crutch at the same time. 

Soon enough, they were all settled down on the couch, Michael squished between the two of them, somehow, waiting for the cookies to bake. 

“What does this mean?” Michael had to ask, eventually. “Like how does this work?” 

“It’s gonna take work,” Alex said. “We’ll figure it out as we go along. That’s part of the reason we made that stupid list though. If you have anything to add.. any ground rules…?”

Michael blinked, looking over at him, mind going completely blank for a minute. He was supposed to have ground rules? “Uh...” 

“No pressure,” Maria said, patting his arm gently. “Just as they come to you.”

“I mean, this is all well and good, but like...” Michael started, getting up and going to measure out the sugar for the icing, in lieu of pacing. Both Alex and Maria stayed on the couch though. Michael got the impression they would have rather he stayed but thankfully they were tolerant with him.

“I… what changed?” He asked Maria, looking at her, briefly. “Because you’re still using your powers. And I’m still going to worry. Why is that okay now?” 

Maria watched him quietly; then got up, going over to gently rest her hand on his shoulder. Michael barely kept himself from tensing, pulling back. 

“Hey, I want to show you something,” Maria said, shifting, digging in her pocket and pulling out a familiar piece of fabric. 

“My bandana?” Michael asked, frowning. He let the spoon go, to take it from her. The wear and staining (lot of grease, a little bit of blood) on it was familiar. 

Maria was reaching up, smoothing his hair back, gently. “Yeah, remember how I told you I had an anchor? To find my way back.” He just nodded, overwhelmed with feeling as he looked between her and the bandana. She was touching it, even now. “I’m not getting lost like I was. I’m getting stronger.” Her fingertips idly traced the faded paisley pattern without even looking at it, like she’s done it a million times before. 

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed, then nodded again. Trying to trust that, to just… let go of the worry. “Okay,” he said softly, still watching those perfectly manicured fingers lovingly caressing that ragged old piece of cloth. 

And then she was stroking his hair in earnest now, and he couldn’t help but lean into her touch, soothed. “You’re allowed to worry.”

“So magnanimous of you, DeLuca.” This from Alex who was still sitting on the couch, arms resting on the back and watching them. Maria flipped him off. But he just sipped his drink serenely, definitely enjoying watching drama that he’s not involved in. Well not entirely involved in, Michael suppose. Oh fuck, how would that work? Do they adopt each other’s Michael-related drama? Ugh, not now Guerin. Too many cans of worms have been opened as it is.  
  
“Yeah ok,” Maria said after a moment. “That’s fair.” She sighed, leaned into Michael, her forehead resting against his shoulder. Michael rubbed her back gently, letting her collect her thoughts. 

“We’re going to fight,” Michael ended up saying anyway. And maybe it was all this talking but… saying it didn’t cause the same level anxiety as it did even an hour ago. It was still there, mind. Just… less.

Maria nodded. “I’m not used to people worrying about me…” Michael actually expected Alex to protest or at least snort. But when Michael took a quick look at him, Alex was surprisingly somber. No, guilty.

Maria dragged his attention fully back to her, with a little squeeze of her hand on his arm. “I’m not used to having someone around whose opinions about my life choices really matter to me, either.” She caught his eyes then. “You weren’t right to try to stop me, but your concerns were valid and I didn’t handle it well. I’m working on that.” She looked at him, searchingly. Michael just held her gaze. She wasn’t done. He was listening. 

“And I also want you to know, things are getting better. I don’t think I’m going to end up like mama.” She shook her head a little squeezing his hand, the one holding the bandanna. 

“Okay,” Michael said softly, nodding. He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugged her closer. Feeling lighter again. “...I guess we just have to trust each other.” He looked at her, at her hopeful smile and misty eyes, until the timer went off. Maria leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, disentangling herself before she turned to get the cookies out of the oven. 

“I suppose we should discuss our bullshit now?” Alex asked wryly.  
  
“I don’t think Maria brought enough booze for that,” Michael joked. He knew it was a deflection, but it wasn’t an inaccurate one. Maria chuckled, shoving him gently in mock disapproval. 

“Get that icing finished,” she ordered, and he laughed, grabbing the meringue powder. Apparently the DeLuca women knew what they were doing.

“We don’t… have to work through everything, right now,” Michael said, aware of Alex still looking at him. 

Maria gently bumped his hip with her own. He wasn’t sure how to interpret the look she was giving him… warm, fond, exasperated? 

Alex raised an eyebrow, then his mug, draining the by-now lukewarm hot chocolate. Michael had the suspicion that it was more an excuse to get up and come into the kitchen. He set the mug down on the counter, leaning against it. 

“You said you were worried it was going to be like every other time,” Alex called him out, and Michael winced. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. 

“You’re not wrong to worry,” Alex said, softly. “I’m still scared. And part of me still wants to run. But there is one key difference though.” Michael frowned at him, bit his tongue on the sarcastic reply that was so quickly loaded. “I want to stay here and make it work. Make us work. No more excuses. No more hiding. No more pretending that I could possibly be happy without you in my life.”

Michael just stared at him. Alex’s eyes were so soft and sincere, open and welcoming in a way Michael has only seen in dark quiet places, squirreled away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. “I want to take you on a date, Guerin. Dinner at Prasong’s? Maybe we can grab a drink at Planet 7 after?”

Michael inhaled deeply, leaning in to kiss Alex, needing that, needing to touch him. The warmth of his touch, the firm press of his lips, the way Alex always chased his mouth a little when he drew back. 

Alex was grinning at him. “Sorry, was that a yes?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Michael said, half-laughing. Maybe he was a bit teary. “You can take me out. Just not to Prasong’s maybe?”  
  
Alex looked confused, clearly expecting clarification. Michael flushed. “It’s just, he’s gonna think I killed Forrest or something. He thinks I’m stalking you.”  
  
Alex dissolved into giggles. He could hear Maria laughing too.  
  
“Yeah yeah. Yuck it up. It’s entirely your fault I had to go to him.”  
  
“Oh no! I figured you’d ask Maria. Not go all International Cowboy of Mystery, pestering half the town and my brother just to find out that I like chocolate and spicy food.”

Michael grabbed a marshmallow to lob at him. Alex was quick with his own responding marshmallow. 

“Hey!” Maria protested, laughing. “You’re going to have to make me more if you two use them all as weapons, Guerin!” 

“That was your plan all along.” Grinning, he tugged her into his arms, kissing her too. “But you don’t have to worry. I’ll make you marshmallows any day.” 

“Oh really?” She asked, with a bit of a mercenary look in her eye. Michael just kissed her again and she melted against him. And, man, would it be weird to say he missed the taste of her lip gloss? 

He kissed her once more, reacquainting himself with the warm sweetness of her breath and soft glide of her lips against his. Her small, cool hands cupped his face, staying there even after they parted. He opened his eyes first, catching the slight tilt to her head, the tender look on her face before her eyes opened and she arched an eyebrow at him. He shook his head and pulled away from her, fingers dragging across her hips as he went. 

“Probably should finish the icing,” Michael said, softly. Not particularly wanting to draw away, but...

“Mn. I need more colors,” Maria agreed. “Pink, light blue, white, and yellow should be okay? I got icing bags, too...”

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” Michael smiled at her and she winked at him in response. He looked for more bowls. Alex’s kitchen was rapidly running out of bowls and it was going to be an absolute wreck by the time they were finished. 

“I always do,” she said lightly as he started to prep the icing.  
  
She was making drinks again, chatting with Alex who had taken a seat out of the kitchen. Maria was standing about as close as she could to Michael without constantly bumping elbows. Both he and Maria were definitely feeling too soppy to get annoyed with each other over space. 

“Go play me something?” Maria said, after Michael had mixed up the different colors, nudging him. “I missed it, earlier.” 

“Eh...” Michael said, feeling suddenly self conscious.  
  
“C’mon, Michael, please, I barely ever get to hear you play,” Maria said, batting her eyelashes at him. That woman’s eyelashes were a fucking weapon.  
  
“Ok,” he said, quickly washing his hands at the sink. “But you owe me a song then.”  
  
As he headed into the living room, Alex slipped into the kitchen, probably to stick his fingers into the frosting. He seemed the type. But Michael trusted Maria to slap Alex’s hands away. So he grabbed the guitar and took a seat, thinking about what to play for a moment. Grinning, he started to strum. 

“Is that fucking Wonderwall?” Maria demanded.  
  
“My fault,” Alex laughed. 

“Ugh,” Maria groaned. “Stop it. I own a fucking bar. I hear that song enough!” 

Amused, Michael kept playing.  
  
“I will kill you, Guerin,” Maria said.  
  
“Kill Alex.” He grinned. 

“Is that how it is?” Alex laughed, flipping off Michael who just kept playing, grinning back at him. Maria was swearing at them both now. 

“Would you rather I play Closing Time?” Alex offered, his voice dripping with fake sincerity.

“I take requests,” Michael called out before Maria could respond, and quite possibly murder Alex.

Sufficiently distracted, Maria pondered for a moment. “Can’t Help Falling in Love?” 

Michael smiled, nodding. He liked that song. It felt right, somehow. He let his fingers find the notes, closing his eyes as he played. After a bit, Maria joined in, singing softly, trading off here and there with Alex. Until their voices harmonized together. 

It was beautiful. Michael didn’t want it to stop, so he kept playing, finding another soft love song that he knew Maria liked, remembered her humming along when it played at the Pony on countless occasions, and another after that. Putting all of himself into the music, letting it untangle and soothe his last few anxieties. 

“Cookie time,” Alex broke into his daze, coming back with Maria, who was following him with a plate full of cookies. 

Maria smiled, going over to kiss Michael lightly. “Love listening to you play,” she murmured against his mouth, lingering there, letting Michael lean up again for another kiss before she pulled back, and offered him a cookie. 

Michael looked down at the plate, blinking a bit. The cookies had been neatly decorated -- he definitely couldn’t have done better -- flooded with color, with neat Valentine’s day candy heart style printing on them. He scanned over the top few of them, shaking his head a little.

_True love_

_Sexy_

_Say yes_

_Cutie pie_

_Be ours_

_Only you_

_Hot stuff_

He couldn’t help but laugh… reaching to pick one of them up. “You two,” he proclaimed, waving it in their direction, “are sappy as fuck.” 

Neither of them looked especially apologetic though. The complete opposite, if you asked him. 

“Birds of a feather, Guerin,” Maria grinned, grabbing his free hand and pulling him up off the piano bench and over to join them on the couch. He was sat down between them. Maria draped her legs over his thighs instantly. Alex leaned his shoulder against Michael’s, holding a mug of Maria’s new warm boozy concoction--cinnamon and tequila hot chocolate this time. He had expected something different, but hot chocolate made sense with the sugar cookies.  
  
“Also don’t think I didn’t notice You're My Jam. Your puns are an act of terrorism.”  
  
Maria smirked, setting the plate in his lap. “There’s more where that came from, baby, and you’re going to hear them all. You’re our butter half.”  
  
“Oh my God. Puns and bad math? I can’t. I quit.” He protested, laughing, trying to get up and pretend-storm into the kitchen

But neither of them let go of him. In fact, they just wrapped themselves tighter around him.

“Here. You need this one too,” Alex said, grabbing another cookie off the plate, and holding it up to his mouth. 

_Nice ass_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew this was a long one! Getting close to the end though! 
> 
> Pretty simple recipe but here's our recipe inspo for this edition anyway: 
> 
> https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/valentines-day-heart-sugar-cookies/


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael really does enjoy baking. that's it. really

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, it's not the end yet!

Breaking and entering was such a fluid concept. For instance, Michael wasn’t technically _breaking_ anything when he picked Izzy’s lock with his TK at 3am. No forced entry, right?

Besides, it wasn’t like Isobel was gonna call the cops on him. 

Even though he could not sleep, he was too tired to do anything super elaborate. A quick survey of Izzy’s pantry revealed that she had enough to make chocolate chip scones, at the very least. 

He did try to be quiet as he worked, using his TK to mix up the batter instead of using the Kitchenaid. But one could only be so quiet while making scones.

“Michael?” 

He turned to look at Izzy, standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, wrapped in a soft teal chenille robe, her braided hair all messy from sleep. 

“Did I wake you up?” He asked, biting back a smirk. 

“It’s three am and you’re banging around my kitchen,” she said, dryly. “You know, post-midnight baking privileges are usually restricted to those who live here.” 

“You’re not tricking me into being your roommate that easily,” Michael laughed.  
  
Isobel rolled her eyes. “At least use the damn spare keys already so your activities are less criminal?”  
  
“Nope, I don’t live here,” he replied, sing-song, and turned back to his batter. He said it lightly but he had no doubt in his mind that if he started using the spare keys, he’d be living here in a week’s time.  
  
“You might as well,” Isobel sighed, not quite-defeated. 

“Wanna help?” He asked. 

“Well, now that I’m up.” Izzy shuffled in, going to make coffee. “Thought you were working today?”

“Took the day off,” he said, shrugging. “Delivered Alex’s cupcakes and I ended up hanging out with them.” 

“Oh yeah?” Isobel looked over at him. No questions about ‘them’, Michael noted. 

“They made me cookies that complimented my ass.” 

“Oh, did they now?” she asked, with a laugh, tasting the batter Michael had been making up. He could tell she was waiting. He was grateful for her self-restraint. 

He took a moment before speaking again. She’d be the first person he told this to. It made it feel real in a way that the sitting, warm and snuggled between them on Alex’s couch had not, and real was uncharted territory. 

Real was exciting and terrifying.

He floured the counter and grabbed the batter, starting to work it into a dough ball. “And they asked if I wanted to get together with them. Both of them.” 

“Oh?” Isobel said--and it sounded far too casual. He knew his sister, and she was not innocent. He was immediately suspicious.

“Izzy?” 

“Hm?” She went back to the coffee maker, pouring the water in and flipping it on.

“Did you have a hand in this?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer. He rolled the dough.

“What on earth would make you think that?” 

“This… triad situation feels more like a you-solution than a Maria-solution.” 

Isobel let out a slow breath, turning back to him. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, forcing him to stop what he was doing and look at her. She kissed his forehead, before looking at him, intently. “Michael, are you happy?”

“I mean,” he started, slowly, frowning… maybe a little at her, mostly at himself. “Yeah?” 

“And are they happy?” she asked, with an aura of infinite patience. It was annoying. 

Michael bit his lip. They _seemed_ happy, but he wasn’t exactly known for making people happy, long-term. “I.. think so?” He said, instead of letting himself babble about how they might be happy right now, but that was no guarantee they’d be happy later. He wanted this to work. Wanted to let himself feel good, even just for now. He was working really hard on remembering that letting himself feel good was okay, that it didn’t mean he was gonna be trapped in the same old cycle.

He had felt so good last night. Trapped between them, high on sugar, warm with alcohol… lighter from all that incredibly uncomfortable but totally necessary talking. They hadn’t done much talking after that, though thankfully; putting on The Great British Bake Off and just kind of vegging together on the couch. Maria had nodded off, her head on Michael’s shoulder, his arm around her. His other hand had been held in Alex’s warm grip, while they occasionally shared some snarky commentary. 

“Then that’s all that matters.” She shook her head, smiling a little. “And don’t try to argue with me about it, you know I’m right.” 

Michael wasn’t going to but it made sense that she thought he would. He would expect himself to argue, truth be told. 

He grumbled, “You better have made enough coffee for both of us.” Clearly that was the right response, because Isobel just smiled, squeezing his cheeks a bit, and letting him go.

Meddling pain in the butt. Both his siblings were _such_ meddling pains in the butt. 

“I have to say, it’s about fucking time. Honestly, the tension was killing me,” Isobel said, lightly. 

He groaned, but also laughed. “You think it was killing _you_?” He asked, shaking his head at her as she shifted to sit on the counter next to the dough bowl. 

“Fair enough,” she said, laughing a bit, leaning against the cabinets, looking at him with a soft smile. “I’m proud of you.” 

“For what, eating cookies and hanging out with two people that I...” he stumbled against the words, because it still felt so intimate, so vulnerable to say it out loud so casually, “that I love?”

“For letting them in, even though you’re scared.” Isobel shook her head. “I know that’s hard.” 

“It’s not--” he started to protest, but Isobel’s look stopped him. He made a face. 

“It’s okay to be scared, Michael.” She looked over at the coffee maker, which was loudly finishing brewing, floating a couple mugs over for it, clearly deciding to be lazy. “I’m proud of you for being brave.”

He let out a soft breath, grabbed the mugs and filled them full of coffee and milk for her, black and too much sugar for him. Willing the flush to fade from his cheeks as he worked. “I just love them so much.” He spoke softly, his back to her for a moment, stirring before turning to hand her mug over. 

“I know.” She took her coffee from him, raising it to him. “And no matter what happens, good or bad. You’ve got family, Michael. Never gonna leave you alone.” Max had said that too, while urging him to ask Isobel for a loan to start a bakery. Now was as good an opening as any but… it still felt like such a pipe dream. Just the fact that this dumb hobby had helped him reconcile with the two people he thought lost to him forever was enough. 

“You don’t have to make that sound so much like a threat,” he said instead, laughing, taking a drink of his coffee and turning the dough out onto the floured countertop so he could knead it. 

She smirked, and he threw some flour at her, just to annoy her. 

“Hey!” She protested, laughing. Thankfully, it seemed like she was too sleepy and comfortable on the counter to throw herself into retaliation. Michael turned his attention back to the scones. Cutting the dough into wedges before brushing them with cream and sugar. Actions that had become familiar, soothing.

And Michael, for once, couldn't find much at all to be annoyed about.

* * *

“I would like my disapproval to be registered for the record,” Alex said dryly as Michael pulled him by the hand towards theater 3. It was a Saturday night. The Cineplex was packed with people. And even though this was not their first date together since Michael discovered Maria and Alex’s mad poly plans, he still felt a barely suppressed giddiness over how relaxed Alex was with these simple open displays of affection.

When they meet now, Alex always grabs _Michael’s_ hand.  
  
“Disapproval noted, the court has decided to proceed anyway,” Michael grinned, pulling him into theater 3. The poster next to the door was for _Offspring of the Soul Stealing-Shark_ , which really could not possibly scare Alex at all. Yet Alex was still looking apprehensive about the whole thing.

It was either this or mini golf, which was another dating cliché Michael had never done but would really like too. Alex hated golf so here they were. And Michael had plans to ask Maria to golf next date night.

“No not there, that’s a terrible viewing spot,” Alex said when Michael was going to slip into the last row. He tugged Michael down towards the middle. They were early, not a lot of people filling up the seats yet.  
  
“You don’t want to watch this movie but you’re still fussing about the right seating?” Michael stated, amused.  
  
“You paid to be grossed out and disturbed and by God I’m gonna find the perfect seats for it,” Alex replied, and Michael almost giggled he was so happy. 

It took about five minutes. Alex was so damn weird, Michael was slowly learning. But he didn’t let go of Michael’s hand the entire time so Michael wasn’t going to complain.  
  
“I should get snacks,” Alex said, about a minute after they sat down.   
  
“Nah.” Michael shook his head. “No need.”  
  
Alex looked appalled. “What do you mean, nah? The whole point of the movies is snacks!”  
  
“No, the whole point is the _movie_. Anyway, I got us covered.” Michael unzipped his jacket and pulled out from his pocket a flask and a ziplock bag of cookies, all movie theater themed, all made earlier in the day. “Concessions are overpriced anyway. Call it the perks of dating a street rat.” 

Alex shook his head, fighting a smile. "I guess the price of dating a _baker_ is diabetes.” Michael flushed. Every time Alex or Maria did that, it started to feel a bit more like a vocation and not a silly sort of stress-relieving hobby. “What did you whip up for us?”

“Red Hots crinkle cookies and buttered popcorn dark chocolate chip cookies.” Michael grinned. He was particularly proud of the popcorn ones, even if he did end up using microwave popcorn in the final product. It had a stronger flavor, better able to hold up to the mixing and the baking. “By the way, these are abominations and you better appreciate me,” he added, gesturing to the Red Hots ones. He definitely did not have the taste for them. Had only picked that recipe because it seemed just like the weird combination that Alex would be all over. 

“It _almost_ makes it worth it to see a god damned horror movie,” he murmured and leaned over to kiss Michael’s cheek, even though the house lights were still up. 

Michael flushed, happily. “I aim to please.” 

Alex grabbed one of the red and white Red Hots cookies from the bag and leaned his shoulder against Michael’s as he took a bite. Michael waited a moment for Alex to chew and when he got no reaction out of him, he not-so-subtly elbowed him. Michael was absolutely not having any more of enigmatic Alex when it came to whether or not he liked Michael’s bakes.  
  
“They’re good,” Alex laughed. “I love cinnamon. I’m probably going to eat the whole bag and gain a million pounds.” 

“Well if you want to run it off, I’m sure Izzy would be happy to join you on some suicidal three AM 10-mile run?” Michael suggested. Relaxing, grabbing one of the popcorn ones. Happy.

“She’s way ahead of you,” Alex said. “Maria and I got texts from her setting up a ‘burn off Michael’s bakes’ calorie run. For charity, apparently. I’ve already agreed… I think she’s still workshopping the title.”  
  
“Of course you did,” Michael said, shaking his head. Not surprised but also resigned to the fact that Isobel and Alex really liked each other’s company. He should find that weird, but honestly, they were more alike than Michael cared to dwell on. Michael should be disturbed that both his significant others were similar to Isobel… nope not thinking about that either. 

“Maria did not agree.”  
  
“Maria did not,” Alex confirmed. “She does not believe in 5 am, let alone 3.”  
  
“Smart woman.” 

The lights dimmed a little then, but only so the commercials and trivia questions could start playing. Not having watched a lot of TV or seen a lot of movies, Michael didn’t know most of the answers, but Alex did.  
  
“You haven’t seen Muppet Treasure Island?” Alex asked aghast after Michael failed a multiple choice question that Alex had deemed unmissable. 

Michael shrugged. “Biggest crime of the foster care system to date.”  
  
Alex sobered a little, pressed a kiss to Michael’s shoulder and pulled out his cell phone. “Need to start a list of all the movies you haven’t seen so we can correct this injustice.” Michael was so relieved that Alex didn’t make a big deal of the foster care thing. It had been dumb to mention it when they were having such a good time. 

“I’d like that,” he murmured, turning his head to nuzzle into Alex’s hair for a minute. “More excuses to cuddle up with you and Maria.” They hadn’t done that again. Not since the night they agreed to this crazy experiment. Michael hoped it was allowed. 

“Mhmm sounds good. Maybe we can make the food and you can relax for once?”  
  
“I donno if I trust you in the kitchen.”  
  
“Excuse you?” Alex arched an eyebrow. Michael resisted a very odd urge to kiss said eyebrow. 

“Can just imagine the monstrosities you’d make--mac and cheese covered in pickles and hot sauce or bananas and spaghetti covered in hot sauce.” 

Alex sputtered, indignant, and Michael just had to lean in to kiss him over it. Too adorable not to. “Mn. In all seriousness… Cooking does relax me. I don’t mind.” 

“I’m not a bad cook, Guerin.” Alex poked him. 

“I believe you,” Michael murmured, but he was more interested in Alex’s mouth than the argument, chasing it despite Alex’s glare. Alex poked him again and Michael laughed. “I do! Fine, you can cook for me. Reclaim your honor! Whatever, just stop looking at me like that and let me kiss you!” 

Alex hummed, placated-ish. No kiss, but he leaned back against Michael, shifting a little until he was comfortable. Michael took it as a win and threw an arm around his shoulder, noting that Alex was googling dinner recipes. Michael figured it’d be smart to keep his mouth shut. 

Hell, he wouldn’t mind letting them fuss.

* * *

Michael was working on an engine when the USPS truck arrived. The driver hopped out of the cab once the engine was off.  
  
“Hey Fred!” Michael called.  
  
“Hey Michael! Been a while,” Fred said cheerfully, coming over with a handful of letters--probably bills--and an amazon envelope. “Would have thought you quit, but the airstream’s still here.”  
  
“Been kinda busy,” Michael explained. He didn’t feel like adding that he’d been busy with his partners. _Partners_. The word still made him giddy and nervous all at once. “So I try to get my work done at odd hours.”  
  
“Ah I see. Well it’s good to see you. You’ve never once greeted me with a shotgun,” Fred said, handing over the mail. “Letters are for your boss. This is for you.”  
  
Michael frowned. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Probably a gift then,” Fred said, watching Michael open the envelope, not even bothering to hide his curiosity. Why was everyone in this town so damn nosey? “You got a couple siblings, don’tcha?”  
  
“Yeah…” If it was another chef’s hat--or god forbid a book on how to make his relationship work--Michael was going to kill Izzy once and for all.  
  
It did turn out to be a book, but not one he expected. _Bakery Start Up: Your Guide to Running and Growing A Trendy Bakery._

Michael didn’t have to see the note to know it was from Max. Goddamn these meddling siblings. He was gonna kill them both  
  
“Ah maybe it was sent to you on accident,” Fred said, laughing. “Happens all the time.”  
  
“This is from my brother,” Michael said drolly, which made Fred laugh harder.  
  
“What? You gonna sell lug nut cookies?” 

Yeah, that was about the reaction he expected from everyone in town if he decided to actually pursue this. He sighed, shaking his head. “Max’s idea of a joke.” 

“Too bad,” Fred said, after a minute. “This place has smelled good, lately.”

And he had to admit that these days even if he wasn’t baking here so much, there was still a scent of sugar permanently in the air in the junkyard.  
  
“Guess it makes more sense that it’s you baking than Sanders,” Fred chuckled.  
  
“Really?” 

“Course. Though I’m kinda hurt I haven’t gotten to taste test any of Roswell’s Junkyard Cookies.”  
  
“Ugh.” Ok but as annoying as Fred was being… it wasn’t the worst idea for a bakery theme. “Maybe next time,” he said, lightly. “Thanks, Fred.” 

* * *

“You absolutely cheated,” Maria said to him, watching the golf ball sink into the hole in one shot. Again. Michael was 5 for 5 at this point. 

“I didn’t!” Michael protested, handing her the flask as they agreed. Michael had said he’d never done this before so she’d suggested a drinking game, clearly assuming she’d win. 

Thing was, Michael couldn’t help but do the math. Even without his powers, he was good at pool. Knew all the angles. He had to, to make his cheating believable, after all. Mini golf was, apparently, not that different.

Maria narrowed her eyes at him, in clear suspicion. But she went to take her shot. Letting out a frustrated noise as she just barely missed the hole. “Are you _kidding_ me!” 

“Do you want me to help you?” Michael couldn’t help but ask. With a smirk, he took a step forward. 

“Guerin, so help me,” she began, gesturing threateningly with the golf club. “If you do that lame shit where you stand behind me and try to teach me how to swing a golf club I will show you how well I can swing it.” 

Michael laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. But your game isn’t gonna get _better_ with all that tequila.” She opened her mouth, likely to remind him that she could out drink his ass any day but Michael barreled on. They could test that particular boast out another day. “I propose an alteration to the terms?” 

“Proceed. With caution,” she said, shaking the club a little to emphasize her point.

“Check your purse.” 

Maria frowned, but went to unzip it, looking in. He’d slipped a bag in, all sneaky-like while Maria was driving. A bag full of white chocolate-orange truffles, all shaped like golf balls. They were utterly ridiculous, but he loved them all the same. “One of those for every hole you lose? They’ve got rum in them, so _technically_ it’s not even that big of a rule change.” 

“White chocolate?” she asked, speculative. Waiting for his nod before she agreed, her expression melted into greed. “Deal.” 

Michael couldn’t help the fond smile. He was sure it was goofy, but he honestly didn’t care. 

“Catch,” Maria called out, tossing him the flask. Michael caught it, watching her finish out the hole. 

“Don’t rest on your laurels,” she said, going to fish their balls out. “These are the easy ones. They get harder after here.” Handing him his, Maria headed off for the next hole. Michael took a moment to watch the sway of her hips, as she walked, feeling absurdly lucky. 

She wasn’t wrong. Instead of nice flat putting areas with regular walls, all easily visible, the greens were stretched out long enough to make it hard to see properly, or had ripples and waves in them. There were ramps and dragons and a goddamned windmill. The math complicated, and suddenly, he and Maria were neck and neck and he was starting to seriously regret his rule change.

“Did you hustle me?” He finally asked, looking at her, suspiciously, as he took his drink.

Maria looked at him in wide-eyed shock. “Would I do that to you?” 

“In a heartbeat, yes,” he countered, and Maria just started to laugh. Ugh. 

“Sure. But either way I don’t think I can lose in this wager,” she said, fishing out one of the truffle golf balls and popping it in her mouth. Humming in pleasure like she’d done every time she’d eaten a truffle. She was definitely doing that on purpose. She was ruthless.

He groaned. He knew when he was outmaneuvered. “Come on. I might as well let you kick my ass like a man.” 

She smirked, definitely looking him up and down. “I promise I’ll kiss it better later.” 

Michael choked, and took another, non-stipulated swig of the tequila. 

“You know, you don’t have to make bakes for every date right?” Maria said as he got ready to tee off. 

“I like baking,” Michael reminded her. He enjoyed baking and he enjoyed baking for the people he loved. 

“I know. It’s just, you know, not the price of admission so to speak.”

“Yeah I’m aware that you’re worth more than a few truffles.” He said dryly and Maria laughed.  
  
“So are you,” she said softly. 

God. He loved her.

* * *

“Hell are you doing here when you have your sister’s kitchen?” Sanders asked, coming around the airstream to find Michael decorating a tart. 

“She’s got a hot date tonight,” Michael said, wrinkling his nose. “Her words not mine. I don’t want to be anywhere near that.” 

“And you’re here instead of with your--” Sanders paused, wrinkling his nose in thought, clearly grasping for the right word. “Three’s Company….” 

Michael snorted and said dryly, “You can just call them my partners. Or Maria and Alex. They don’t mind their names either.”

“Question stands,” Sanders said, grumpy. Sanders didn’t give a fuck who Michael dated or how many. He just seemed to hate figuring out how to discuss it. So he usually didn’t. 

“I’m seeing Alex later tonight,” Michael explained, amused. “This is for him.”  
  
“Why not just make it with him?” Sanders asked. “Amazing marvel of alien junkyard engineering aside, I’m sure his oven is more comfortable.” 

“Weird turn of phrase,” Michael called him out. “We’re cooking together, and I want this done before. Are you annoyed that I’m here, old man? Got a hot date of your own?” 

“Just trying to suss out what stupidity is floating around in your head,” Sanders said. 

Michael sputtered. “How am I being stupid?” He asked. “I’m just baking here, I didn’t ask for psychotherapy.” 

Sanders grunted. “You know, I never see you here unless you’re workin’ now.” 

“You miss me?” Michael shook his head. He should have known the mangy old dog was lonely.

Sanders glared at him. “So I get suspicious when you show up during your off hours.”  
  
He looked up sharply, frowning at Sanders. “I _live_ here.”  
  
“Haven’t slept here in weeks. Months, maybe.” Sanders shrugged, glanced over the airstream that Michael has only returned to for a shower or a change of clothes, lately. If at all. A surprising amount of his clothing had ended up in Maria and Alex’s drawers. “As I said, I get suspicious when you show up here during your off hours. Wondering if they screwed up. Or more like you, since they seem to have the patience of saints and level heads on their shoulders. Bad taste in… _partners_ but level heads.” 

“Thanks for that,” Michael said dryly. As if Michael wasn’t constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Maria or Alex to get jealous and demand that he chose. Or for them both to decide that he wasn’t actually worth all the trouble at all. And he _knew_ that it was foolish to think that way. Alex and Maria seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. Maria had even set up a text group with the three of them, ostensibly for coordination of dates but mostly just to chit chat. Alex posted links to articles he thought would pique Maria or Michael’s interest, or stuff he was excited about. Maria complained about work, sent photos of new outfits she’d put together. Michael posted pictures of bakes he wanted to try out, or drinks he thought Maria and Alex would like. 

Maria and Alex both posted memes that they got from Izzy of all people, or stupid soppy poetry that definitely bore Max’s signature and the stupid thing was, Michael wasn’t even mad about it. Somehow he found it cute that they’d both bonded with his siblings.

It’s been good. Michael’s been happy, despite his worries. But he’d been working hard to make sure they were happy too. Making sure neither felt like he preferred one over the other, spending as much time with them as he could. Anticipating their needs, like having comfort food ready for Maria after a practice session with Isobel or for Alex when he knew that Alex would be having a hard day at work. 

He honestly loved being in their space all the time. Alex’s place, which was a little sterile and modern for his taste but had surprisingly luxurious couches and chairs. Maria’s place with its warm, chaotic oranges and yellows and crystals and plants and books. A little small compared to Alex’s but oh so cozy. Both places felt like home, if he were being honest with himself. But sometimes, he just needed a place to be by himself. To think, and to bake since it helped him think.

“All right kid,” Sanders said. “Spit it out.”  
  
“Spit what out?”  
  
“Michael I’ve known you a damn long time, don’t act like I can’t tell when you’re thinking.” He actually had the audacity to put air quotes around thinking. 

Michael would throw something at him if he had anything on hand besides the tart. “Shut up. I’m happy.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Sanders rolled his eye at him. “You’ve got the stupidest smile plastered on your damned face all the time. What’s the but?”

“There isn’t a but!” Michael protested. “Really. Just sometimes I need time to myself.” To keep himself from going crazy. Maria and Alex putting that down as rule no. 6 had made him more aware of his bad habits. And baking was just so good for quieting his mind. Just like music. No more chaos, no more doubt. Just the love of the process and the pride of the finished product. 

Sanders shrugged. Deciding that was enough of an answer, he moved over to look at what Michael was working on. Too curious, like a shark that smelled blood in the water.  
  
“That’s for Alex,” Michael reminded him, before Sanders could get any ideas.  
  
“Haven’t gotten to play your taste tester in a while. Guess I’m gonna have to start commissioning shit from you like the Pony does.” 

“Wait.” Michael stopped him, suddenly curious. “ _Would_ you pay for this?” He gestured at the tart. He knew his siblings and his partners and Maria’s new fancy hipster crowd would. But they weren’t the whole town. He couldn’t build something self-sustaining on just hipsters and loved ones. No matter what Max said, he’d need the Freds. He’d need the cowboys and the rednecks, the tired waiters and waitresses, the moms with too many kids and not enough time. 

Sanders squinted at him, like he didn't fully understand the question. “Not if you’re givin it to me for free.”

Michael shook his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. Like... if you didn’t know me. If it was just some shop with really damn good cookies. Would you?” 

Sanders’ eye was keen on him, and god, Michael suddenly was nervous, like a stupid fucking kid showing a dog turd at show and tell. Fuck. 

“Only thing you’re better at than fixing cars is making me fat,” Sanders finally said, gruffly. “You should do it, kid.” 

Michael swallowed against a lump in his throat, looking down at his work. “You really think I can?” 

“You’re not payin’ me to massage your ego,” Sanders grumbled. 

“Not sure you could even if you tried,” Michael said dryly, rolling his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's our recipe inspo!
> 
> https://laurenslatest.com/red-hots-crinkle-cookies/  
> https://joythebaker.com/2013/04/buttered-popcorn-chocolate-chip-cookies/  
> https://www.sugarhero.com/golf-ball-truffles/


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael can has nice things.

“You two are incredibly meddlesome,” Michael said when Max and Isobel met him at the firepit by the airstream. He handed them each a skewer with cinnamon roll dough twisted tightly around it (homemade, Michael refused to mess with the stuff in the can) then pointed them towards the firepit.  
  
“Hello to you too,” Isobel said, just as confused as Max. 

Though Max’s confusion disappeared when he saw what Michael had left in one of the empty chairs by the pit. “Ah, I see you got my book.”  
  
“Yup,” Michael said dryly.

“What book?” Isobel asked, frowning. 

“You’re both meddlesome pains in the ass,” Michael repeated instead of answering Isobel’s question. He took a deep breath before continuing. “But _sometimes_ you have a point. There’s something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Isobel.” 

“Yeah?” Izzy glanced between Michael and Max in confusion. 

“There’s a space downtown. I was… thinking of renting it. Get out of your hair,” he said, ducking his head a little. “Stop fucking up your kitchen every other day.”

There was silence for a moment. It was hard to keep his eyes on them. He spent most of his time staring at the fire. 

Isobel handed her dough stick to Max and Michael looked up just in time to brace himself for her tight hug. He thought it would be over in a second but she clung to him, giggling and swaying. He chanced a glance at Max and saw him beaming. 

“This is an inappropriate amount of excitement,” he protested, trying not to laugh. Just feeling her joy. It was annoying, infectious.

“I love it. Can I help decorate?” She asked, finally pulling away. “Maybe take a few shifts at the counter? Oh man, we’re going to get the cutest uniforms…”  
  
“No!” He had a nightmarish flash of chef hats and too much pastel.  
  
“Aw c’mon! Please?”   
  
“May I make a suggestion?” Max asked, laughing.  
  
“No!” Isobel and Michael said at the same time. Max rolled his eyes. 

“Izzy, you’re jumping the gun!” Michael added, hands on her arms, trying to keep her from bouncing. 

“No way! I want to help.” She pulled back just enough to look at him, but she was still clinging.  
  
“She has a point,” Max spoke up, distracting them from the impending argument. He closed the distance between them and clapped Michael on the shoulder, eyes bright and excited. “Besides, you’re going to have enough on your hands with the menu.” 

Michael groaned, shaking his head. “I have to _get_ the place first,” he said, squeezing Isobel a bit. This was hard. They were both so excited, Izzy practically vibrating, Max’s hand rubbing Michael’s back, big grin on his dumb face. And, for once, Michael was even more excited than they were. He’d been excited since talking to Max about it but had just been forcing himself to keep his expectations where they belonged. Firmly stuck on Earth. But he couldn’t keep it from building, until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Wait wait. Before you start making all these plans…” He paused and Isobel stopped bouncing, picking up on his serious tone. Fuck this was hard. As excited as he was and as much he wanted to do this, it was still hard to ask for financial assistance. 

Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if the resistance was entirely due to pride anymore. 

Max tugged on Michael’s arm, settling him down in one of the lawn chairs by the firepit and handed him a beer from the cooler along with a dough stick. 

Michael took a pull from his beer and watched the dough start to brown in the fire. His siblings waited, drinking their own beers and frowning at their dough.

“Isobel, I wanted to ask if you’d help me out with financing...” He finally got words out, forced them out. Then he closed his mouth before he started bringing up all the reasons why she shouldn’t do it. 

_You actually want her to help you, Michael, don’t try to talk her out of it_.

“Of course,” Isobel said, no hesitation. “Of _course_ , Michael. Anything you need.”

“A _loan_ , Izzy,” Michael said, immediately. Firmly. Wanting that to be clear. “I’ll pay you back, as soon as I can.” 

“As if I could stop you,” she said, dryly. Exasperated. Max clinked with bottles with her, obviously commiserating over Michael’s stubborn need for financial independence.  
  
“Fuck you both.” There was no bite to it though. “Look, I want this place to be mine. Name, decor, menu, uniforms. You can help, but I get to choose.” 

“I promise.” She smiled, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I’m so proud of you.” Her voice was soft. Michael manfully willed away his flush. 

“Don’t be proud till I actually succeed at this.” Michael shook his head. 

“You will,” Izzy sounded so confident. “I’ve never seen you actually fail at anything you put your mind to.” 

“That’s what I told him,” Max said. 

He couldn’t keep the flush down this time. “Ugh. Pay attention to your dough so you don’t burn it,” Michael protested, disentangling himself from her and putting his hat back on his head. But he reveled in their pride, their confidence. Cautiously. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d told Max he got into UNM. 

“I feel like the baker in the family should be taking care of this,” Isobel protested, but she turned her attention back to the dough, thankfully -- Michael got the feeling that she was doing it mostly because she knew he needed a minute. 

“As for my suggestion,” Max said. “What do you think of Kneads Must as a name for the store?”  
  
Michael groaned, swiped his hat off, and used it to hit Max with. 

Oh god, _everyone_ was going to have an opinion on the name, and every single one of those opinions would be a fucking pun.

* * *

And of course he’d been right. Everyone _did_ have a damn opinion. Several, in fact.

"You have the look of a man on the lamb,” Alex said, glancing up at Michael. He was stretched out on the couch, laptop propped against his thighs, when Michael walked into his house. No need to knock as Alex had given him keys. 

“Maria and Isobel,” he said by way of explanation. “Ran me out of the bar--”  
  
“Oh damn,” Alex interrupted. “If I’d known, I’d have asked you to bring me my jacket. I left it at her place three brunches ago and I keep forgetting to bring it back with me.” 

Michael lifted up a grey suede jacket. “Maria had me swing by her place to pick it up.” She’d given him keys to her place too. Such a little thing, the both of them giving him keys, but it made him smile.

“Thanks.” Alex smiled as Michael put the jacket away in the hall closet. “So they ran you out of the bar?”  
  
Nodding, Michael walked into the kitchen to get water from the fridge. He’d probably had enough alcohol to drink for one night. “Yeah, while I was trying to come up with a good bakery name,” he explained before finishing his drink of water. “Maria was helping me and then Isobel comes in and they start arguing about who’s going to run the bakery’s social media account.”

Michael had broken the news to Maria and Alex a few days after he, with Isobel’s help, had gotten the lease for the storefront from the owner. He’d taken them both out to dinner at Prasong’s since the Italien place he had originally wanted to go to was closed that night (god damnit, what was with this town and its dumb puns?). Getting relentlessly teased by Prasong for being the only person ever to successfully stalk someone into a relationship with them (har har), had not been part of his celebration plans but very little could kill the excitement he felt over being a step closer to achieving his crazy plan and being able to share that excitement with his partners. 

Alex snorted. “You haven’t even started the renovations yet?” 

“Tell them that,” Michael grumbled, while quickly rinsing out the glass. “Isobel has been fussing me for a name so she can register domain names and get the social media accounts up and running, which Maria didn’t care for because apparently she had been planning on running my store’s social media accounts.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t you run your own?” Alex asked.  
  
It was a rare occasion where Michael was the one arching an eyebrow at Alex. But it was a dumb question, and Alex instantly recognized that.  
  
Alex laughed. “Wait, do you even know how to use Facebook?”

“No, and there’s a reason for that,” Michael grumbled. “Social media is stupid.” 

“Come on. Instagram? You’re never been tempted to save pictures of some of your better bakes?” 

“Save yes, share no.” Michael sighed. “But anyway, once I get the name, I can let them argue about it instead of bugging me.” 

“I mean it wouldn’t hurt for your brand to have an online presence.”  
  
“Oh don’t you start,” Michael huffed and Alex lifted his hands up in surrender, humming in a way that Michael was starting to recognize as his way of dropping something even though he still had more to say. “You want anything from the kitchen?”

“No. But I would like to hear the bakery names?” Alex perked up with a slow smile and soft hopeful eyes. It was entirely weaponized to make Michael buckle. It was the equivalent of Maria batting her eyelashes. In other words, Michael had no choice but to comply. “Show me.” 

Michael laughed, flushing. “Yeah, okay,” he said, digging his journal out. It was a proper journal, not the spiral notebook he’d used to write down his recipes of romantic pinning. This had been a gift from Max, to keep all his ideas and plans for the bakery in one place. Made of brown leather with the symbol they all had tattooed on them now, embossed in the corner. It even had a slot for a pencil and a cord to keep the journal closed. It was maybe one of the nicest things he owned. Max hadn’t even said anything either, just handed it to him after they left the real estate office with the keys for the storefront.

Alex closed his laptop, placing it on the coffee table. When Michael sat down on the couch Alex curled up against him, legs over Michael’s thighs, arm around his waist and chin resting on Michael’s shoulder. Michael had to say of all the things that surprised him to learn about Alex, what surprised him the most was that Alex was a snuggler. He was honestly kind of an octopus once you got past that prickly, reserved exterior.

Once comfortably wrapped around Michael, Alex read over the small list, giving his opinion, and coming up with a few suggestions of his own. 

Of course, Alex’s suggestions were emphatically not any better than Maria’s, which had all either been terrible puns or just plain terrible. Though he did kind of like Black Hat Baker. 

“UFDough? Extraterrestrial sweets? Were these your ideas?” Alex asked, raising his eyes to Michael who shook his head emphatically.  
  
“Maria wants an alien theme?” he asked, dropping a kiss on Michael’s shoulder as they looked over his journal. “Movie puns? Could go with Good Boy!” he murmured in Michael’s ear, nibbling at his earlobe just a little. 

Michael sputtered. “That is not an alien movie.”

“Mn. Super intelligent dogs who want to colonize and dominate Earth.” Michael could hear the smirk in his voice.

“That is the dumbest thing I have ever…” He trailed off, distracted, as Alex pressed another kiss to his neck, nipping this time.

“Sinful temptation.” This he offered with his hand down Michael’s pants.

“You are no help,” Michael breathed out, twisting enough in Alex’s arms to kiss him deeply. And honestly, Michael didn’t need much prompting to firmly decide that there were more things than bakery names and alien dog movies. 

* * *

  
With a lot of the paperwork involved in starting a business out of the way, he could finally turn his attention towards a contractor. Maria had suggested the one she used for the Pony occasionally and insisted on coming along for the meeting, so she could essentially strongarm the poor man into giving him a discount. Maria was a true mercenary. It was a pleasure to watch her work. 

Now all he had to do was make about a million decisions about materials and colors and fixtures. It was a challenge he welcomed, but even so it was a little overwhelming. He’d never handled a project this _big_ before. 

Michael was sitting on Maria’s couch, messing around on her laptop, scrolling through endless tile options till he felt like his eyes were crossing -- both with their sameness and the _price_ of them all. Michael couldn’t help but do the math, and square footage added up, fast. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t doing this alone. That Isobel was more than happy to finance his plans and if things were still too expensive, she had no problem following Maria’s example and haggling the vendors into submission, no powers required. 

Still he wasn’t used to being able to spend money like this, and it was hard not to feel guilty about it, so he kept looking for ways to make this venture as inexpensive for Isobel as possible. But he really really liked that color of that wood for the counter… ok, he told himself, how about that counter but the cheaper tiles. 

He glanced up when Maria stepped out of her bathroom, wearing soft PJs. She was wrapping her damp, freshly washed hair up in an old, worn t-shirt. 

“Hey. Feel better?” He asked. She’d been in there a while.  
  
“Yeah…” she said, flopping down on the couch, pulling the plush orange throw over her shoulders and leaning against him. Her eyes half lidded as she looked at Michael. “Thank you for dinner. I appreciate it. I know this isn’t exactly the date you were hoping for.” 

Michael glanced over at the chicken casserole he’d thrown together, on the dining table, covered in foil to keep it warm. “It’s fine. I--”  
  
“Like to cook, I know.” Maria pressed a kiss against his cheek. Michael smiled a little as she settled back against him. “Still doesn’t change the fact that things didn’t go as planned.”  
  
Michael couldn’t deny that. After their meeting, they were going to hit a food truck and then head back to her place, eat, maybe watch a show while they baked… maybe something more fun, when Maria was hit by a vision. The force of it had seemed to rock her, Michael grabbed her hand to steady her. Trying not to crush it with his frightened grip. Waiting. Waiting for her eyes to refocus, his heart pounding in his own ears so loudly he wouldn’t have been surprised if she heard it too. 

It was the first time he’d been witness to a vision since getting back together. And… it still wasn’t fun. But he had noticed a few things… Maria didn’t look so damn frightened. Surprised sure but then she just relaxed, her eyes soft and unfocused, her breathing forcibly deep and even. And then, what felt like an eternity later but was probably barely a minute, she was squeezing his hand back gently. Asking him to ease up his grip a little before just slumping against him. 

“It’s fine. Are you really okay though?” He asked, trying to keep his tone even, arm going around her. He didn’t want to fuss, but he still worried. Had been worried the entire drive back to her place. Maria had been so quiet, but not upset. Her eyes were just closed, like she was resting, her thumb rubbing slow circles over his knuckles, catching on the rough skin there. She hadn’t let go of his hand since the vision had passed. Michael, acutely aware of her anchor, had held on to her, flushed. 

“I’m ok. Just a big wave. Needed to catch my breath.” She rubbed her hand over his thigh, scratching lightly at the old denim. 

“I’m here.” He kissed her hair, held her close and rubbed her shoulder. “I got you.” He almost wanted to ask what she saw. But he didn’t want to pry, especially if it was something bad. Maria would share it with him, if she thought he needed to know, right?

Maria smiled… kissed into his shoulder, her eyes closed. “I know. Thank you.” 

“You hungry, or should I put it in the fridge?” He asked, still nuzzling in her hair. 

“In a minute. Show me what you’re working on?” 

“You really want to look at tile swatches?” He asked, amused, but shifted the laptop so she could see. “I’m thinking white subway?” 

“Boring,” she started, wrinkling her nose. “But classic.” 

“Cheap.” He pointed out.

“Mn, true. But that’s not what I saw....”

Michael frowned, looking down at her. “You saw the bakery?” 

“I’ve been to the old antique shop,” Maria said. Her tone matched the way her nails traced the skin of his thighs visible through the holes in his jeans, teasingly. 

He narrowed his eyes, swatting her distracting hands away, making her laugh softly. “Maria, did you get one of your psychic visions about my bakery?” 

“Spoilers,” she said lightly and leaned up to kiss him. “Don’t go with boring white subway tile.” 

“Izzy has boring white subway tile and it looks fine,” he protested. 

“Isobel has the style of a mid-thirties housewife playing at instagram influencer. No soul,” she responded, tartly.

“Ouch,” Michael laughed. “Okay, okay, fine.” Snuggling her closer, he kept scrolling through more and more tile swatches. But it was hard not to think about the meaning behind her vision. Maria was right about spoilers though so to distract himself, he pulled up the wood he was looking at for the counter. “Ok, so I think I’d like this for the counter. Help me pick out a tile? They kind of all look the same.” 

“Pretty dark,” she hummed, looking at the dark-stained butcher block. 

“I kind of like that, though,” Michael said. “And… I kind of like the black hat name you suggested?” 

Maria chuckled, turning to kiss his shoulder. “And yet you’re looking at white tile? Why not black, at that rate?”

Huh. He didn’t know why he didn’t think about that. He shifted to search for black tile. “Oh. Wow, that looks good.” 

“What would you do without me, Guerin?” Maria asked, smugly. 

“Die,” Michael grinned and kissed her. “Come on, let’s get food in you.”

“I’m not hungry,” she whined, clinging to him. 

Michael shook his head. “You will be. You’ll be ravenous, soon enough.” Pressing another kiss to her mouth, he shifted up, disentangling himself. “Stay here, I’ll bring you some.”

“It’s hard to eat and cuddle.” Maria pouted and Michael rolled his eyes. He was starting to get a clearer vision of his type. Snarky, stubborn octopuses.

He honestly couldn’t be happier.

“It is,” he said, as he was dishing out the food. “But you can lay on top of me if it makes you feel better.” 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, watching him, her cheek pressed to the back pillows of the couch. “Family movie night.” 

Michael groaned. Izzy had insisted on a family movie night, and no amount of _I’m busy supervising the remodeling of my store Isobel_ had any effect in swaying her determination. Nope, not only was he expected but she also had sent him a text threatening death if he didn’t make his popcorn cookies. And he wanted to make something for Alex. And he and Maria had been planning to make ice cream tonight, after their date. 

“It can wait,” he said, after a minute, going to settle back on the couch with her, pulling her into his arms. If her hands were gonna be busy the least he could do would be to provide the cuddles. “I’ll just get up early tomorrow.”

Maria took the food before pressing the tip of her nose against Michael’s, gently. Her eyes half lidded, soft… vulnerable, Michael thought. It made his chest tighten. “Thanks.”

Just the gentle, sweet way she said that made Michael melt a little. “Always.” 

* * *

Michael hated _everything_. He’d been up since five trying to get everything baked for movie night, and of course nothing had gone right because he was answering the phone to talk with the contractor and making calls to track down the cheapest and best materials. He had to make sure his dream--this venture--was actually successful. So he had been distracted which meant he had to bake the damn cookies twice and now he was running late.

To _family movie night_. There was a reason he never did this shit.

“Michael!” Izzy yelled at him as soon as he poked his head in the door. “You’re late!” 

“You can’t rush perfection,” he retorted, holding up the paper bag he was carrying, full of cookies and other baked goods.

“Maybe not, but you can plan for it,” she said, hitting him lightly and relieving him of the bag. “Maria and Max are pouring the drinks… oh what’s cold in here?” she asked, startled. 

“‘S’mores ice cream.” 

Isobel raised an eyebrow. “Whose kitchenaid are you cheating with?”

“Maria has an ice cream maker. You realize, Iz, that a kitchenaid isn’t the only appliance that does things, right?” 

“Scandalous.” 

“If you two don’t get that ice cream into the freezer before it melts, I will sell your kidneys to Kyle,” Maria called out from Izzy’s kitchen, sing-song.

Isobel laughed, heading in there and digging out the ice cream from the bag. “And what, exactly, is Kyle going to do with our alien kidneys? Much need for those on the transplant black market these days?” 

Maria scoffed lightly, in that way she did when she knew she’d been momentarily bested, and dodged the question by pulling Michael in for a kiss. 

“Where’s Alex?” He asked after he pulled back from a slow, lingering kiss.

Maria nodded toward the door out to the patio. “Tech support. He and Liz.” 

Michael winced, “oh.” Liz was a brilliant scientific mind but hooking up equipment wasn’t actually her forte. “Maybe I should help?”

“Bury the body?” Maria asked, reading his mind. “Probably.” 

Snorting, Max handed Michael a mojito. “Take that to Liz?” 

“Sooner the better, most likely,” Isobel said, looking over at the door, as if she could feel a storm coming in her bones. Honestly, maybe she could. Michael was starting to admit that his sister was a whole lot more perceptive than she used to be, now that she’d been letting herself relax.

“On it.” Michael nodded, taking the mojito and heading out the door to them.

“Alex!” Liz was saying. “I did _not_ cross any wires?”  
  
“Are you sure, _Elizabeth_?”   
  
“I am, _Alexander,”_ Liz shot back, clearly annoyed. They kind of sounded like siblings, Michael thought, and wondered if this is how he, Max and Isobel sound when they argued. “I have--”  
  
“Three degrees,” Alex cut her off. “I haven’t forgotten. You told me not 10 minutes ago. You know where you can shove those degrees?”  
  
“Hey Liz! Your mojito!” Michael said hurriedly, stepping out into the patio. “Also you may want to hurry inside, I made ice cream but Isobel’s trying to lay claim to it. Should get some before she eats it all.”

“Oh hell no!” Liz was already rushing back inside. “If she thinks she’s going to colonize the ice cream too, she’s got another thing coming!” 

The family resemblance between her and Rosa was stunning sometimes, Michael thought. 

Alex let out a heavy breath, as if expelling all the frustration that was building up.

“Thought you might have needed a save.” Michael stepped over, to lean in for a kiss. Alex frowned and dodged it.

“I didn’t,” Alex growled, going to check wires.  
  
Michael was taken aback, staring at Alex for a long minute, until he realized how tense his shoulders had gotten. Like he was bracing for something, getting ready for whatever this was to spin out of control. And a big part of him wanted to head back into the kitchen, grab some whiskey, and bury his face in Maria’s hair. Ignore it. But instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited, letting the quiet play out between them.

After a moment of silence, Alex glanced up from around a sound speaker. It was fast. Michael wondered if Alex had been expecting Michael to say something nasty, something tailored made to incite a fight. Michael just kept staring at him, implacably. 

“Would you classify yourself as a colonizer or an invader?” Alex asked, conversationally.

“Castaway,” he replied, trying to keep his tone even. But he was tense and his tone was definitely grumpy. 

Alex paused and smiled a little. “Castaway to my heart?”  
  
“Are you fucking--” Michael growled. If Alex thought he could make Michael forget that he was being a prickly asshole with a cute joke...  
  
Alex walked around the speakers, hooking his fingers into Michael’s belt loops before he _could_ actually storm out. “Hey. I’m sorry.” 

Michael narrowed his eyes at him, unconvinced. 

“I was pissed at Liz,” Alex continued. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. And for what it’s worth, I _didn’t_ need the save. But I did appreciate the interruption.”

Michael sighed, unable to stay angry at Alex for long. “You get a pass, this time.”  
  
“I don’t need a pass,” Alex said, smiling slowly, leaning in to nuzzle his ear. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

Michael grabbed Alex by the shoulders and pushed him back, gently. Not too far. Just enough that Alex can see the scheming little grin on his face. “So we’re going to mini golf this weekend?” 

Alex actually groaned. “I was thinking more along the lines of trying out some things I read about in Izzy’s library…”

Michael grimaced. “No. Do not bring up Isobel in the same sentence as _whatever_ you’re going to say next. Ever.” 

Alex laughed, and something that evil really should not be that sexy. 

“Are you two done with the sound system already?” Isobel called from inside.  
  
“Almost!” Alex called back, refraining from mentioning Liz’s sabotage. He started pulling away, but Michael grabbed his hand and tugged him back in. 

“Don’t think you’re getting out of mini golf, sir,” Michael said before kissing Alex briefly and moving towards the speakers, to finish up whatever Alex might have missed.  
  
“I hate mini golf!” 

“Mn. That’s how I know your apology is sincere,” Michael teased. 

“You just want to practice so that next time Maria tries to hustle you, you’ll be ready,” Alex shot back. 

“That might be a contributing factor,” Michael said. He continued, chuckling, “Look you said you’d make it up. You don’t get to choose how or it wouldn’t count.”  
  
“Fair…” Alex said slowly, doubtful.  
  
Michael grinned. “When I inevitably piss you off, you can decide the punishment. But this one’s mine.”  
  
Alex raised an eyebrow, slowly, a bit of the evil coming back. “Oh yeah? I’ll hold you to that,” he replied, slapping his ass. 

“Less gross, more movie,” Isobel said, stepping into the patio with a platter of cheeses, meats and crackers. 

“What, popcorn too predictable Isobel?” Michael asked, willing away his flush. 

“There’s plenty of that too, smartass,” she replied.  
  
As if on cue, Liz stepped out with a giant bowl of popcorn. “What? We’re still not set up yet, Captain I.T.?” She said grinning smugly. 

Alex flipped her off, but at least it was a relatively good-natured response.

“Can’t believe you two are going all alpha nerd over a stereo,” Maria said, winding around Liz on her way towards Michael and Alex. She handed them both beers. 

“I am not,” Alex said.

Maria raised her hand up, cutting him off. “Finish setting that up while I tell Guerin about all the dumb fights you and Liz had in math class.”

Michael scoffed. “Why? I had the highest grades. Why fight over the you-tried gold star?” 

Alex laughed. “You know what--” 

The doorbell rang then, barely audible over Maria’s hysterical laughter. Michael was actually starting to wonder if she was going to pass out from oxygen deprivation.  
  
“Oh that’s Blair!” Isobel said excitedly and hurried to answer the door. 

By the time Isobel was done introducing Blair to everyone, Alex had fixed the problem with the sound system and everyone had settled around the projector on the chaises and pillows and blankets Isobel had dragged out. 

He had to give Izzy credit. She knew how to set up a cozy night. Maybe this wasn’t going to be terrible. 

Max started up the movie--another muppet movie. Apparently they were on a kick. Michael curled up with Alex on one side and Maria on the other, letting them twine themselves around him. 

Yeah, okay. Maybe he didn’t completely hate this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/campfire-cinnamon-twists/
> 
> https://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/smores_ice_cream/


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finally opens the bakery and settles into his new and improved normal.

Time had moved in a blur. Isobel’s money and the clout that came with the Evans name made things happen so  _ fast _ . Suddenly the tile and flooring and paint and appliances had all been chosen and paid for and they were only weeks away from the bakery opening and Michael was… stressed.

He’d thought that décor would be the most stressful decision making he would have to do. He was dead wrong.

“Cookies. Definitely cookies,” Maria was saying, helping him sort out the menu. She was pacing back and forth in the airstream while Michael and Alex sat on Michael’s narrow bed. “You’re going to need to have chocolate chip every day, and maybe a couple rotating flavors?”

Michael nodded. “Okay, that’s easy enough. And probably need some low prep stuff. Maybe cheesecakes?”

“Classic cheesecake,” Alex said nodding. “And maybe a variation or two like that Blueberry and Lemon cheesecake you made for me a few weeks back.” Alex really liked cheesecakes, apparently. The blueberry and lemon cheesecake in particular had gotten Michael one of the best blow jobs of his life. Honestly, if he had known just how much Alex loved cheesecakes, Michael would not have fussed with hot sauce and chili peppers for so damn long.    
  
“A good chocolate cake too,” Maria said. “Can never go wrong with that.”

“Oh and your basic morning staples,” Alex added. “Like muffins and chocolate croissants.” 

Michael groaned. “This is a lot to do on the daily.”

“Isobel did offer to help,” Maria pointed out. She climbed into the bed and knee walked over to Michael. Once behind him, she started rubbing his shoulder, likely sensing how stressed out he was over the menu. Sweet though completely futile Michael’s shoulders were about as malleable as granite right now.

Michael tapped his pencil against his journal, reviewing the list so far. It was pretty massive and not a little chaotic. It had to be perfect. Perfect presentation and perfect taste. But it also had to be doable. Michael couldn’t make fancy cakes with shiny ganache glaze every fucking morning after all. He’d watched enough Great British Bake Off to know that would only spell disaster. 

“I’m sure you can leave a lot of stuff prepped.” Alex pulled out his phone and started googling. 

Michael nodded. “Cookie dough for sure. The cheesecakes can be no-bake. Mostly the croissants will be a pain.” He wasn’t arguing that he needed them, though. 

“So no croissants for now,” Alex said, taking Michael’s pencil and journal and crossing the word out decisively. Guess he was tired of the tapping. “How about a few varieties of muffins? Bran, blueberry. Orange cranberry?”

“Or scones.” Maria added. She was still futilely trying to rub the tension from Michael’s shoulders. “For variety. You make some good scones.” 

“Ok,” Alex said, hooking a knee over Michael’s thigh. “Breakfast foods: muffins and scones and maybe cinnamon rolls? Those were a hit at the Pony right?”

“The Beckys will not stop asking about them.” Maria nodded. “I have been giving them your flyers.” Maria’s idea. Strategically placed at the bar so people would start anticipating the grand opening of Black Hat Bakery. 

“So those gotta be included….” Alex glanced at Michael to make sure that would be doable. “And then a no-bake cheesecake right? Chocolate cake? Oh what about one of those things in a cup with no substance? They have got to be easy. I think they’re mousse?” He offered, hoping Michael would know what he was talking about. “It’s just like frosting with a high opinion of itself and a berry on top.” 

“You mean a trifle?” Michael laughed. Alex shrugged, taking Michael’s word for it. “Yeah okay.” Michael took a deep breath. This was doable. Right? God he was so nervous over it though. “Put it on the list.” 

Alex nodded and did so. “I do think you need like one signature thing. Something to make your bakery stand out from the diners. Aside from the fact that nothing there would have arrived wrapped in cellophane I mean.”

“You don’t have to decide that right now,” Maria said tightly, giving Alex a look.

“If everything else is easy,” Alex said, stubbornly. “Then we can squeeze in one hard thing. Doesn’t have to British Bake off crazy.” 

Michael was chewing on his lip a little. “It doesn’t even have to be hard,” he said. “Maybe... cupcakes? With hats on them?” 

“A black hat!” Maria exclaimed. 

“Exactly.” Michael smiled at her, nodding. Alex grinned and wrote it down. “Can’t be that hard to make. Dark chocolate in a mold, maybe?

Maria nodded. “Yeah, those can be made the night before too right? Can the cake part be peanutbutter?” 

“Or maybe one of those blackout type things where everything is dark chocolate?” Alex offered. 

Michael smiled. Both those ideas sounded great honestly. Another hard thing about creating a menu was having to choose. A lot of the suggestions weren’t that hard but he couldn’t do all of them. He only had so much time and so much space. He needed variety as much as he needed things to taste and look good. But making those choices was hard.

“Hey…” He began, a thought coming to him. “You know what? I think what we really need to do is some taste testing.” 

“Neither of us mind being your guinea pigs,” Maria reminded him, planting a kiss in his hair and squeezing his shoulders a bit. 

“Actually...” Michael hummed. “I’m thinking maybe inviting other people. I mean Max and Izzy obviously, but Liz, Rosa, Kyle even. See what people like best? I mean, the kitchen’s basically functional, it’s just the seating area they’re working on now.” 

“That’s a fantastic idea!” Maria said. “That way it’s not only me arguing against Alex’s weird tastes.”

“Hey!” 

“They are weird babe,” Maria said.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve been saying it for months,” Michael said, holding his hands up, laughing. 

Alex rolled his eyes. “You guys are just boring.” 

Michael rolled his eyes back at him, pushing him lightly. “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you come up with some kind of rating form? We can let people vote on their favorites.” 

“On it,” Alex said, pulling up Excel on his phone. Because of course Alex Manes had Excel on his phone. 

Smiling fondly, Maria reached over to ruffle Alex’s hair gently. “Michael, have you started ordering ingredients yet?” 

“Some stuff.” He nodded. “But there’s a grocery store that sells in bulk that should be okay for now. I’ve been buying 25 pound bags of flour, but they have 50 pound bags for cheap.”

Maria nodded, grabbing her laptop. “Okay. Let’s see if there’s candy molds in the shape of hats?” She grinned. “And maybe we can do sugar cookies that look like your belt buckle. I’ll even let you use mama’s recipe.”

That made Michael’s chest warm up and he could feel his smile become dopey. “If you’re sure…” 

“Of course I’m sure, babe,” she said, smiling softly back at him, going to kiss him lightly and then make herself at home in his lap. “Let’s shop.” 

“Hey, if you find it on Amazon, try going to the source?” Alex suggested. “A lot of smaller companies have vet discounts.” 

“Ok,” Michael said, arms around Maria’s waist and glancing at Alex. He was so lucky they were here with him. There was no way he would have been able to do this alone. But here they were, sitting in his cramped airstream, helping him, unasked, achieve his dream. How did he get so lucky, was what he wanted to think. But he thought maybe that was unfair to all the work they’ve put into this relationship. 

Michael laughed. Listen to him. He almost sounded like a well adjusted person. 

* * *

Two days straight of measuring and mixing and baking (he’s not even going to count the days he spent drafting recipes in his journal), and Michael was exhausted but ridiculously proud of himself. Every bench and case had baked goods on them ready for tonight’s taste test. 

The bakery itself was almost completely finished out now. Dark wood counters, tables and benches (the iron backed chairs wouldn’t be in for a couple more days), black tile walls, clean black display cases, and the soft light of Edison bulbs in pendant lamps. It was like the bakery version of his bunker and he couldn’t feel more at home. He even rigged up an old school-looking metal and wood register with a modern POS system because Michael didn’t have enough on his plate, apparently. But he knew it would look cool, and it did. There was a decal on the window with his sketch of the black hat logo. It looked really cool too, he privately admitted. And maybe he’d have to get a neon sign made one of these days. But for sure, he was going to add some plants by the window when it was closer to opening, maybe hang some pothos or some other vining plants, maybe some succulents on the windowsill.

It was really starting to feel  _ real _ . 

“Hey babe,” Maria called out as she and Alex stepped in the front door. They were the first to arrive, early of course. Both of them carrying boxes of alcohol from the Pony’s stash. Because the only thing better than eating a ton of sweets was getting drunk while doing so.

“Hey.” Michael smiled, going to kiss them both, then relieve them of the boxes, carrying one and using his TK to take the other, setting them on the long wooden bar, which he’d deliberately left cleared. “Thanks for bringing all this.”

“You just better remember how much I love you to be acting as an unpaid bartender on my day off,” Maria teased, going to set up. 

“Anything you need me to do?” Alex asked, investigating some of the bakes. “Give you a minute to relax?”

“Still gotta get these hats on the bakes,” Michael said, nodding at a bunch of molded chocolate cowboy hats. They’d, at one point, decided to stick them on all the cupcakes (raspberry lemon, dark chocolate and peanut butter), cheesecakes (espresso, caramel brownie, and mixed berry), and trifles (tiramisu, dulce de leche churro, and chocolate-berry mousse). 

“On it.” Alex nodded, grabbing a pair of gloves to get started. “These things are adorable,” he added as he carefully put the hats in place. “People are going to love them.” 

Michael grinned. “They better,” he said lightly. “Oh, you brought the voting stuff?” Alex had wanted to do a google doc, but Michael had argued that he wanted actual paper. More tactile and people were more liable to write notes.

Alex laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Of course I did. Maria?”

“Here.” She pulled a stack of papers and a rubber-band wrapped bunch of golf pencils that they may or may not have liberated from mini golf. “Come get them and your drink.” 

The rest of the party slowly started to trickle in, grabbing drinks and a piece of paper for voting, checking out the decor, and excitedly commenting over the spread of baked goods. Michael was feeling really good about his choices. Though he was still definitely adding some more common things to the menu like vanilla cupcakes, for the customers with boring palates. 

Max and Isobel were the last to arrive, Max carrying a large canvas bag in his arms. Michael was immediately wary. These two had been using the excuse of getting the bakery running as a way of giving him all the gifts. All of them. Because they knew it’d be a lot harder for him to argue. They walked straight over to him, Isobel throwing her arms around him.

“You know I was so skeptical about all the black and dark browns,” Isobel began, and honestly skeptical was a fucking understatement. She had been so annoying ( _ “It’s a bakery, Michael! Not a funeral home!”),  _ he had almost killed her. “But it looks damn amazing. I love it.”   
  
“Rustic,” Max agreed, quietly. “It’s very you.”

“And this is  _ for _ you,” Isobel said, motioning for Max to give Michael the bag.

“Enough with the gifts already,” Michael complained, even as he took the surprisingly heavy bag -- reaching for it with one hand and realizing that he needed two as Max told him to be careful. Frowning, he looked inside and saw that it was a clearly used red kitchenaid.

“It’s less of a gift and more like me just giving you what’s always been yours.” Isobel chuckled and she sounded a little nervous? “I mean, sure, you didn’t bake your first cake with it or anything but--”

He shifted it onto his hip and pulled her into a tight, one-armed hug. “Thank you.” Okay, he couldn’t complain about this gift at all. “Go get yourself something to drink, yeah?” He nudged her after a minute. 

Isobel nodded, smiling and pulled away. 

Max squeezed his shoulder before following her. Michael took a minute to breathe, looking out at his friends, his family. Feeling warmth in his chest, recognizing it as happiness, pride, and love all twisted up together. When did his life get so damn full?

He put the kitchenaid away in the kitchen before he went to join people, journal in hand, so he could write things down.

“These are amazing,” Liz was saying, on her third dulce de leche churro trifle, leaning against Max as she put it away. “Seriously. Giving my dad’s pancakes some competition.”

Michael laughed. “Okay, so those are definitely going on the menu, then. Save room for some other stuff though?” 

“Don’t tell me how to overindulge,” she winked at him. “I skipped lunch, don’t worry.” 

“Rearranged my cheat day for this,” Kyle added. “But any chance you’re  _ actually  _ going to sell keto muffins in the future?” He grinned. 

Michael groaned. “Let me settle in, and maybe I’ll sell them on Mondays. Since Mondays are the worst.” 

“Free burn care and stitches if you do,” Kyle countered, and Michael had to laugh.

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand. “Don’t forget to vote on what we’ve got here too though.”

“Oh we’re being methodical.” Liz said, pointing her pencil at Michael. “Next round is the--”

“Espresso cheesecake,” Kyle said, or moaned, ew, looking at the voting list. Alex had organized it by dessert type with a rating scale of 1 to 10. Originally one was going to be fantastic and 10 was going to be phenomenal but Michael had hit him with his journal and Alex, laughing, had changed it. 

“Honestly, I’m getting flashbacks to high school debate,” Max said, in a tone that he probably meant to be good-natured complaining, but just sounded sappy. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’ll go get the cheesecake for you,” he said, even if part of him wanted to linger and listen to the discussion around the trifles. 

Izzy and Rosa were hanging out over by the cheesecakes, laughing between trading barbs, and they looked like old friends. Best friends, even. When the hell did they get so close?

“Well if his taste is as bad as yours, he’ll never go for it.” Rosa was smirking, her eyes on Michael as he walked up, and Michael looked back in suspicion. What the hell were they talking about? Couldn't possibly be the bakes....

“Oh it’s much worse.” Izzy nudged Michael as he came up. “Rosa was just wondering if you were planning on adding any color in here.”

Michael actually groaned. He loved Isobel to death but sometimes she was just like her adoptive mom and it was annoying. “No she wasn’t. This is all you. But yes, if you must know, I will be adding plants.” 

“It wasn’t  _ all _ Izzy,” Rosa interjected. If that was true, then maybe they were becoming way too much alike. “And plants are nice but would it kill you to put some art on the walls? I could do a mural for you. Or maybe paint the tables? That could be cool...” she trailed off, looking over at them, speculatively. 

That surprised him. He and Rosa weren’t exactly close.

“You saw what she did for my accent wall.” Isobel was beaming but she squeezed Michael’s arm reassuringly.

Michael looked around, a little uncertain. But maybe some color wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He’d seen Rosa’s art, and it had a bit of edge to it. He didn’t mind that. “Are you sure?”

“As long as you pay me in deluca de leche churro trifles,” Rosa said. “I ain’t a sucker.” 

“... DeLuca de leche?” Michael asked, pretty sure he misheard that. 

“Oh, I’ve decided that’s their new name,” Maria said, sliding her arm around him, nuzzling his cheek. “Since they were my idea.”

“She’s just trying to subliminally remind people to come to the Pony after they load up on sugar,” Rosa fake-whispered.

Michael got the sense he was supposed to laugh. “Hey, I respect the hustle.” Michael shook his head, and turned to steal a kiss from Maria. 

“Hey Guerin, where’s our cheesecake?!” Liz shouted across the restaurant. “Bring one for Alex too!”

“God, it’s almost like I’m at  _ work _ ,” Michael laughed, kissing Maria once more.

“No,” Maria said, grabbing Michael’s hand and tugging him back up against her. He looked at her, bewildered and about to protest but she continued with, “Isobel should do it.”

“Hey!” Isobel protested around a mouthful of cheesecake.

“You said you wanted to help! Help!” Maria shooed her. “Michael gets to schmooze.” 

“Oooh, dirty pool, DeLuca,” Isobel said, shaking her head at Maria, but she didn’t argue. Grabbing a tray and loading it up not just with the espresso cheesecakes, but all of the different cheesecakes. Efficient.

Maria grabbed the last of the churro trifles, taking a scoop with the tiny plastic spoon and offering it to him. “You should try your own stuff,” she said. He didn’t argue. Even though he’d tried it before, leaning down to take the bite and… she smeared it on his nose, giggling. 

Michael groaned, lightly smacking her hand. But her laugh was infectious, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep a straight face. 

“I couldn’t help myself,” Maria said, unapologetically, leaning up to kiss away the trifle from his nose. 

He definitely heard a “gross” that was probably Rosa but he ignored it entirely. Pulling Maria against him and rubbing his nose against her cheek, ensuring that whatever she hadn’t kissed away ended up there, and kissed her before she could protest. 

* * *

“Can you get me another beer please?” Alex asked, distracted, fiddling with the tablet resting against his thighs.

Michael hummed and pressed a kiss behind Alex’s ear before tucking his nose into his hair and concentrating. It only took the barest use of power to open up the minifridge and float a couple beers over, popping the caps along the way. Since Alex’s hands were busy pulling up the new episode of The Great British Bake-off that he pirated just a few hours ago, and Michael’s hands were busy holding Alex snug against his chest, Michael set the beers down in their precarious spot on the windowsill by the bed. 

“Thanks.” Alex turned his head, kissing Michael’s cheek. “Almost ready.”

“Take your time,” Michael murmured in return. This last month had been an exhausting blurr of finishing touches on the bakery or dealing with unforeseen problems in his supply line. Michael was stressed and exhausted, excited sure but also bone weary. Honestly, he should be fucking asleep right now. He had an early day tomorrow.

But sitting up in his tiny bed, Alex nestled comfortably between his legs, chest to back, surrounded by the subtle scent of Alex’s cologne, was absolutely worth tomorrow’s exhaustion. Anyway there was no way he was going to miss their weekly Bake Off viewing, started after Alex caught up with the show, even all the specials, and refused to wait for the complete season to air in the U.S. 

For Michael, any excuse to spend time with his boyfriend was a welcome one. They didn’t even need to be doing anything in Michael’s tiny bed to help him destress. Just Alex’s presence, his little relaxed smiles, the way he laughed at something on TV or better yet something Michael said… that made every bit of stress and worry dissipate like so much vapor. 

“Ok Guerin, ready.” It didn’t quite register. Michael was almost asleep, face tucked in Alex’s hair. Hadn’t even noticed it happening. “Michael?” Alex nudged him gently, amused.

“Mmm?”

“Maybe we should skip tonight?”

“No I’m good,” Michael murmured, squeezing Alex tighter against him, his hands tucking up under Alex’s soft red t-shirt.

“Michael,” Alex said in that stern, disapproving voice of his that actually belied his concern. Michael was starting to get good at hearing the concern. “You’ve been really busy. Maybe we should reschedule--”

“For when I’m not busy?” Michael snorted. “Like after the bakery opens?”

“Good point.” Alex sighed, kissed him.

“I wanna hang out,” Michael continued stubbornly.

“Sleeping counts as hanging out,” Alex tried, and Michael snorted. It most certainly did not.

“Does not. Anyway, Maria’s going to miss all our, what did she call them? Live blog texts if we go to sleep.” 

Now it was Alex’s turn to snort. Maria hated spoilers, even for a show she barely cared about. She watched it for Michael. Most of the time when they all watched it together she fell asleep against Michael, and then would always apologize for doing so. As if that bothered him in the slightest.

Ok so maybe sleeping could be hanging out. As long as they were the ones doing the sleeping. Michael didn’t like missing a moment with them. Not when he’d already missed so many.

Deciding that it was best not to argue, Alex snuggled back against Michael’s chest, and turned on the show. The tablet resting against his thighs, a couple pillows under his knees so his bad leg wouldn’t get tired, he grabbed his beer, taking a pull. 

“We’re not rescheduling ever,” Michael said stubbornly. “So get the thought out of your head. And you better not text Maria about it.” That was all he needed, Maria yelling at him that he needed to get more sleep. Again.

“Or what?” Alex chuckled. “You’ll bake me a revenge cake?”

“No more spicy cookies.”

“Cruel and unusual punishment,” Alex protested lightly 

Michael chuckled, nipped lightly at Alex’s neck. “Learned from the best.” 

In the end, Michael missed most of the episode, having passed out about ten minutes after it started. Alex, the traitor, had admitted to noticing and not waking him up. But at least he tolerated a second viewing.

* * *

Michael was tired again (it was becoming a permanent state), but in the best way. Izzy had just left and he flipped the sign on the door from open to closed. His first day officially in business and he’d completely sold out. At one point there’d been a line out the door during the morning rush. He felt like he’d seen the whole damn town. Even Sanders had come out, and he’d wrapped up that cranky old man’s scone and cookies and flat out refused his money. He’d already determined that Sanders was never gonna pay him a dime. The rest of the town, however? Hell, if they were willing to pay this much for coffee and scones, he was not complaining.

He grabbed a rag to go wipe down tables and the coffee bar (the latte machine was a gift from Alex, who had said it was more a gift for himself when he came by the store when Michael protested. Michael was still trying to figure it out, honestly, but he hadn’t gotten any complaints). All he had to do was clean up and… 

The bell on the door rang, and Michael looked over his shoulder, ready to tell whoever came in that he was sold out. 

“Hey,” Alex said smiling and going to wrap his arms around Michael. “How was the first day?” 

“Good. Great.” Michael smiled, leaning his forehead against Alex’s. “Sold out of pretty much everything.” 

“Really?” Alex squeezed him. “That’s amazing.” 

“Yeah.” He sighed happily, nuzzling his cheek. “Maria still coming before work?” 

“Yeah, she should be here in a half hour. She had to run an errand. Need some help cleaning up?” 

“Oh my god I love you so much.” Michael groaned. “You take care of out here, I’ll clean up behind the counter?” 

“Deal,” Alex said, immediately. Behind the counter was a lot messier, even though Michael was a pretty neat, precise baker by this point. 

Michael kissed him in gratitude, then handed the rag over, heading back behind the counter.

It wasn’t too much later that Maria was coming in. Michael looked up and smiled at her, fondly. “Hey babe. Mind locking it?” 

“Of course,” she said, closing and locking the door. “Looks like it was a successful day?”

“He sold out,” Alex said, and Michael could hear the pride in his voice. Just knowing that Alex was proud of him. That was almost better than succeeding.

“Well. Not  _ completely _ .” Michael corrected, his chest tight and warm with pride too, and happiness. “Saved something for you two.”

“Oh?” Maria tilted her head. “Please tell me it’s one of those dark chocolate cupcakes.” 

Michael smiled. “Might be a  _ little _ better than that,” he said as he turned to the refrigerator, so he could pull it out. 

He’d decided to make it during some of his downtime. He’d been wanting to make a mirror glaze cake for a long time, and this just seemed appropriate.

The glaze was deep, swirled pinks and blues and purples, sparkling with glitter. Honestly the closest cake approximation he could get to the pods. Perched on top was a green fondant alien, with one of his chocolate hats perched on its head. 

As soon as he brought it out, Maria and Alex both burst into laughter. 

“Well, that will go great with this,” Maria said, after she got herself back under control, wiping her eyes a bit and pulling out a bottle of champagne. Michael didn’t know much about champagne but he could tell that the bottle was expensive. 

“I thought you had to work?” He protested, and realized as he did that that was actually the first thing to come to mind, instead of the price of the bottle.

“Max insisted on covering for me. Not that I took much convincing.”   
  
“I don’t really have fancy glasses,” Michael said, feeling silly for sounding apologetic. 

“Put it in the espresso cups,” Alex said, shrugging and taking the bottle from Maria, working on opening it up.

Maria rolled her eyes. “I’m offended you think I wouldn’t have planned for this.” She pulled out three champagne flutes from her ridiculously large purse. Honestly, she was right. Michael’d seen her pull out some crazy stuff from that bag. He’d been considering testing it for an interdimensional pocket. 

“That’s my girl,” Alex said lightly, getting the cork out of the bottle smoothly and starting to pour for them. Maria leaned up, kissing Alex’s cheek, before taking a flute and handing one to Michael. 

Michael sputtered, laughing. “Oh so it’s okay when he says it?” 

“Different dynamic,” Maria said, kissing his cheek too for good measure.. 

“God, I hope so,” Michael said dryly, wrapping his free arm around her.

Once Alex had a flute, he moved over to Michael’s other side and wrapped his arm around him. His fingers hooking around their now customary place in Michael’s belt loop. Maria's arm would likely be crossed over Alex’s now, her own fingers in a belt loop too. Michael leaned just a little bit into their joined arms. 

“Please don’t make me toast,” Michael said. 

“We know you’re an alien of few words,” Alex laughed. He dropped a kiss to Michael’s shoulder. “Best thing you ever did was start watching The Great British Bake Off. At least now you can channel all of that bottled up emotion into something that tastes good.”

Michael would protest, but it was fair. “Telling me. So what are you channeling yours into?”

“Excellent sex.” Alex said, dryly.   
  
“It’s excellent but it ain’t a panacea.” Michael snorted, and Maria made a noise of agreement that sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh.    
  
“We’re not talking about me right now anyway.” Alex continued dismissively. 

“What  _ were _ we talking about?”

“The best show,” Alex said, cheek resting on Michael’s shoulder, grinning up at him. 

“It is,” Michael acknowledged. 

That stupid cooking show was why Michael was currently wrapped up in Maria and Alex’s embrace, all of them looking at the mirror glazed cake he made (the thing that inspired him to baking in the first place) sitting on the counter of Michael’s newly opened business.

Holy shit. The bakery. Michael shook his head. He was a bakery chef and a business owner. A real honest to fuck business owner. And while it was too early to definitively say it was  _ successful _ , he felt like a success. He had to blink away sudden tears, take a drink of his champagne to loosen the knot in his throat. 

“I’m so thankful for that dumb show,” Maria continued, laughing softly. She squeezed Michael’s belt, eyes on Alex. His eyes on her too. Soft. Alex nodded and Michael knew that if not for his hands being already full, Alex would have reached for Maria’s hand.

Michael leaned into her a little more, tugged Alex along with his TK. Alex giggled. Who knew Alex giggled when he was comfortable and really happy? Michael knew that now. 

“Hey. Just… show or no show, you know, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you guys.”

“I’m glad for the opportunity to help,” Alex said. “Maybe that’s what we should be toasting too? Opportunity?” Maria rolled her eyes, clearly not feeling it.

But Michael nodded. He got what Alex was trying to say. “Yeah. That feels right. You guys giving me another chance. Taking a chance on each other. Being able to take a chance on this. More than I ever thought I’d get.” 

Alex’s arm tightened around Michael’s waist, fingers now stroking his side. 

“You’re giving us a chance too, don’t forget that.” Maria pressed her lips to the corner of Michael’s mouth, a soft, sweet kiss.

Michael nodded. He was. It was still hard to acknowledge that at times. Maybe because it was still hard at times for him to acknowledge (maybe accept was the better word. He knew it. Logically, he did) that not  _ everything _ bad that happened between them was his fault. 

Just like it was hard to completely ignore the little voice in his head that told him that all this couldn’t be permanent. He couldn’t be this lucky. 

He’d tell that little voice to go fuck itself as many times as necessary.

Maria kissed him and Alex asked, “what kind of cake is it?” Alex asked. Both of them tugging him back to the here and now.

“And thank you for not making little fondant cake toppers of us,” Maria said dryly. 

“It’s not that I didn’t try,” Michael began grinning. “It’s that my people are easier to turn into cake toppers.” He pointed down at the little green alien floating on ganache and glitter.

“Oh  _ God,”  _ Alex laughed. “Tell me you destroyed them.”

“Sure,” he lied, lightly. They had been absolutely hideous, and he laughed so hard that he had to save them, and they were currently haunting his walk-in. Extricating himself from Maria and Alex, he reached for the cake knife so he could cut into it, revealing the rainbow-colored sponge inside. 

“Shit Guerin,” Alex breathed out. 

“It definitely looks more complicated than it’s going to taste,” Michael said, but he was smiling widely. “Just a plain vanilla. But next time I’ll practice with making it taste rainbow as well as look it.”

“Oh shut up and let us appreciate your work of fucking art, Michael,” Maria nudged him, and handed him plates. 

What else could he do? He served them both up generous slices of cake and settled into one of the booths with them, one leg hooked around Maria’s, his free hand in Alex’s. Even though Michael was emotionally and physically tired from the day, and even though it was late and Michael had to get up ridiculously early, they stayed in that booth laughing and talking about honestly nothing Michael would remember in a year’s time. But what he would always remember was the feeling of being between them, snug and warm, happy and loved. He’d remember sitting in that booth until the entire champagne bottle was drained and most of the cake was eaten, listening to Maria and Alex tease each other, and sharing sweet kisses with them. What he would always remember was the feeling that this was something he could have because  _ he’d _ gotten all the ingredients together, patiently let them rise, and then shoved the concoction in an oven and hoped for the best.

And holy shit it’d turned out better than he ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's a wrap, folks! Thank you so much for sticking with us through this whole thing! We hope you enjoyed reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Your final round of recipe inspo:   
> https://rosebakes.com/make-cowboy-hat-cupcake-toppers/  
> https://crafterward.com/posts/peanut-butter-chocolate-cowboy-hats  
> https://www.easyanddelish.com/dulce-de-leche-churro-trifle/  
> https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/mirror-glaze-cake-7217247

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cookies!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430508) by [lychee_jelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lychee_jelly/pseuds/lychee_jelly)




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